


The American

by Cadenlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mild Language, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 43
Words: 103,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1302106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cadenlock/pseuds/Cadenlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SIX YEARS AFTER H.L.V.</p><p>Sophie is the name of John and Mary’s daughter.  Sophie is on the Autistic Spectrum.  She is extremely observant and intelligent.  Sophie will often repeat words she hears through out the day or refuse to speak entirely.  The Watson’s have hired an American nanny with a degree in special education named Charlotte to ease Sophie’s transition from the home to the classroom.  Sophie is just about to turn six.</p><p>Charlotte begins receiving threatening messages and gets sent to live with Sherlock until the case can be solved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pink is the Watchword

**Author's Note:**

> The characters (most of them) are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's. Some are the creations of Gatiss/Moffat. All the rest are my creations playing in the world already established for us.

* * *

 

 

Charlotte quickly checks her phone before tossing it to the bed where Sophie has camped out to watch a movie.

“Sophie, please do not get popcorn all over my bed this time!”

“No popcorn in the bed.  Nanny. Nanny can I have the popcorn? It is not time for popcorn in the bed.  Charlotte. Nanny Char.” Sophie looked up briefly before putting popcorn into her mouth, dropping several pieces onto the quilt below.

 

Sophie loved to take words apart and test their quality by the sound each syllable made on its own.  She would often refer to Charlotte as ‘Char.’  When she was feeling particularly ornery she would add ‘Nanny’ to the front of it.

 

When Charlotte left the room, Sophie immediately got under the covers to get more comfortable.  Charlotte’s phone chimed with a new message. 

 

Sophie picked up the phone to see what it said.  Sometimes Charlotte received silly messages from friends that knew Sophie was reading them first.

 

Sophie knew immediately this was not one of the silly messages. This was one of the other ones. They never had bad words or mean words in them, but there was never a picture of a friend next to the words. Sophie came to know all of Charlotte’s friends from their pictures on her phone.  Her favorite messages were from her Mummy and Daddy. They would take pictures of themselves and tell Sophie to “ go to bed!” or “Practice your violin!” But this one was the default outline assigned to numbers that did not have picture identifiers.  Sophie read the message carefully.

 

**WHERE ARE YOU?**

 

Sophie was an excellent reader.  Her Uncle had taught her to read when she was three and gave her Treasure Island for her 5th birthday last year.  Her Mum said Uncle Sherlock was just like Sophie. He understood her better than anyone else, except maybe Charlotte.  Sophie thought he was funniest when he guessed all of the things her Dad had been up to before they would see him.  Sophie believed her Uncle was not pleased when they brought Charlotte home from the airport last month because he has refused to meet her. Sophie has been trying to get him to come over to the house but he keeps texting that he cannot come because he is on a serious case.  Her Dad says that is rubbish. 

 

Sophie was still holding the phone when two new messages appeared.

 

**YOU CANNOT HIDE FOREVER.**

**I WILL FIND YOU.**

 

Charlotte has received ten of these messages that Sophie knew about since she came to live with them.  As she had done with all of the previous messages, she deleted them from the phone. Sophie liked her Nanny very much. On the first day she met her, Charlotte gave her a pretty heart pendant necklace that matched her own and told her to wear it everyday.   Sophie did not want anyone to hurt Charlotte or take her away.  Deleting the messages was the best thing to do. She would have to tell her Uncle soon though.  He will help her protect Charlotte.  Sophie put the mobile phone down and went back to the movie.  Her favorite part was coming up.

 

When Charlotte came out of the bathroom, it was to find Sophie sound asleep in a pile of popcorn.  Carefully, Charlotte lifted the small child into her arms and walked back to her nursery. The little girl began to stir as Charlotte placed her on the bed. 

 

“Nanny.   Can we see Sherly?  Can we go to him?  Where is he? Where is Sherly? It is time to see him.  Now is the time.” The child reached out for Charlotte’s hand but instead of taking it, she passed her the phone.  “Sherly likes pink, Nanny.  Pink.  Don’t forget. Can we go now? It is time to see him, Nanny.”

 

“We cannot go to your Uncle’s house he is sleeping like you should be little girl. Go to sleep.” Charlotte put the phone in the pocket of her robe and tucked Sophie in.  She straightened the collar of Sophie’s nightgown revealing the tiny heart pendant.  Smiling contently, Charlotte returned to her own room to begin the tedious process of cleaning the popcorn from her bed sheets. 

 

Charlotte went to the kitchen to throw away all of the remaining popcorn when Mary and John came home.

John waved to Charlotte as he made his way to the back rooms where their bedroom is. Mary hung their coats and made her way to the kitchen.

 

“Ah, popcorn.  Is your bed a terrible mess then?” she said eyeing up the half full bowl. 

“Well, it wasn’t as bad as the last time. She chose to watch the movie with the dancing prince this time, so she was more distracted.” Charlotte replied dumping the remaining kernels into the trash. 

 

“That makes sense.  He reminds her of Sherlock.  She just adores him.  They really speak the same language, you know?  The rest of us could be furniture in the room, he only has eyes for her.” Mary smiled to herself lost in a memory.

 

“She misses him.” Charlotte said.  “She mentions him every evening before going to sleep.  It is always the same, ‘Can we go to Sherly? Can we see him? It is time to see him now.  Where is Uncle Sherly?’ and even though she doesn’t seem to be upset, she is using his name as a chant to calm herself.”

 

Mary’s face lost its smile as she considered what Charlotte was telling her and slowly stood up.  “She has said ‘it is time to see him _now_?”

 

“Yes, tonight was the first time she said it was time to see him. Before it has been ‘is it time to see him?’ what has changed, do you think?” Charlotte asked.

 

Mary shook her head distracted and asked, “Is she still wearing the locket?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Charlotte, fingering her own necklace, looked unsettled at Mary’s reaction.

 

Deep in thought, Mary began to leave the room saying,  “Good.  That’s good.”

 

* * *

 

“Pink. I like pink.  Can I have a cupcake? Can I have a cupcake? Nanny Char can I have a cupcake?  Can I?” Sophie woke up that morning agitated and displayed her unease by repeating questions and other phrases throughout the day.  Charlotte understood the significance of this, but patience was wearing thin with the customers nearest to them.

 

Leaning down, Charlotte smoothed Sophie’s hair back, adjusted her locket and assured her she could pick one pink cupcake. 

 

“She loves cupcakes doesn’t she?” A man behind them in the line asked. He was tall and gazed indulgently at Sophie.  Sophie giggled at him as he touched the top of her head.

 

Charlotte was not easily ruffled.  She had seen people at their best and she was aware of how ugly it could get at their worst.  This man unsettled her.  Not exactly in a dangerous/bad way, but enough to send a little warning alert to her brain. His eyes were so piercing she faltered.  Her skin tingled with a rush of adrenaline.  She pushed Sophie behind herself, but the child kept peeking out to see him.

 

“Uh, yea, she does. I’m sorry she is a little upset today.” Charlotte gave Sophie her phone to play with. 

 

She turned back to the man to see he was now watching her intently. “You’re American, then.” He was not asking a question. “East coast.”

 

“Yea, yes.  I am. How did you know?” Charlotte was still having a tough time forming thoughts and communicating them well while trying to keep Sophie behind her.  He reminded her of someone, but it was a fuzzy memory she could not drag up while concentrating on making words.

 

“Your accent,” was his only response.  His eyes were so intense she felt her face heating up and quickly turned away.

 

When it was their turn at the counter Sophie picked a vanilla cupcake with pink icing and sprinkles on top.   Before Charlotte could tell the baker their order, the man behind her ordered three, plus a coffee for Charlotte and paid the baker.

 

“Thank you, that really isn’t necessary.” Charlotte tried to give him money, but he waved her off.

 

“It’s my treat,” he said.  “Mind your nanny, little one,” he said to Sophie patting her on the head and walked out of the bakery with his cupcake.

 

Sophie watched him go and giggled again. 

 

Charlotte grabbed her coffee and the plate with the cupcakes and steered Sophie away from the counter.

 

Sophie loved playing games.  She planned to teach Charlotte a brand new game today and she was a little anxious about it because Charlotte did not know the rules and it was important that she win the game.  Sophie wanted Charlotte to win, but she could not tell her the rules.  It was very important that Sophie follow all the directions she was given.

 

Sophie was still playing with Charlotte’s phone while they walked to a little table near the window.  Putting the phone upside-down on the table, she reached for her cupcake and began eating right away.  Charlotte sat down across from Sophie with her back to the wall so that she would have a clear view of the bakery. As she brought the coffee to her lips she realized how odd it was the man ordered her a coffee.  Everyone here drank tea; even the few Americans she had met had made the switch.  She felt self- conscious asking for coffee because venders always gave her condescending looks.

 

She took a sip of coffee and grimaced.  This was probably why the English drank tea; they sucked at making coffee.  She missed America. She missed her own house and her coffee maker.  She had jumped at the opportunity to work abroad.  It had always been part of her life plan to spend time in a different country, but there was no place like home when it came to small creature comforts like coffee.

 

She took another sip of the bitter liquid and watched Sophie.

 

“So little girl, you have a birthday very soon.  What would you like to do to celebrate?” She asked as she reached for Sophie’s face to wipe the excess pink icing off.

 

“I want to dance.  I want to dance with Sherly.  You should dance with Sherly too.  He is an excellent dancer.  I want to be the princess. You can be my waiting lady.”

 

“You mean your ‘Lady in Waiting,’ Sophie.” 

 

“That. I said that Nanny Char. You’re not listening.  Dancing Lady.  It is not time to dance. Can we see Sherly?”

 

Charlotte smiled and sighed.  Every little girl at Sophie’s age wanted to be a princess and dance with the handsome prince.  Hell, most women still had a small delusion that it could someday happen to them.

 

When Sophie finished her cupcake she picked up Charlotte’s phone again. Sophie had put the phone on silent incase Charlotte received messages.  Sophie scrolled through the five that were there. And quietly whispered the name each message was from.

 

 

Sophie, do not forget to practice your violin today! Kisses! -Mary

 

 

Charlotte, please make sure she only has ONE cupcake. -Mary

 

 

Mary is asking me to remind you to give Sophie only one cupcake. -John

 

 

Is everything okay? You aren’t responding. -Mary

 

Sophie gasped when she got to the last message causing Charlotte to sit up and look over at her.

 

“Sophie, are you ok?”

“I feel fine.  Where is Sherly?”

“Sweetie, Uncle Sherlock is on a case.  Your Mummy told you that this morning.” Charlotte went back to people watching as Sophie looked around the bakery and then finally back at the phone to read the message with no assigned picture.

 

**PINK?**

 

Sophie made sure that Charlotte was still looking outside when she deleted the last message.

 

“Can we see Sherly?  Where is Sherly? Nanny Char.  I like pink. Sherly likes pink. Nanny Char. Nanny. “ Sophie looked carefully around the bakery.  “It is time to see him now, Nanny.”

“Sweetie, we will see Uncle Sherly at your party in a couple of weeks. Until then you must be patient,” Charlotte became worried with how upset Sophie was getting.

 

Sophie smiled in return.  She was going to begin the game and it was important that Charlotte pick up the clues she left for her.

 

Sophie could not wait any longer.  “Mummy is worried,” she said softly to Charlotte as she handed over the phone. As Charlotte reached for the phone the coffee cup was knocked off the table.  Considering it was half full, coffee spilled everywhere.

 

“Crap!”  Charlotte jumped up before more of the coffee spilled on her khaki colored pants.

 

“Uh oh! Uh oh! Crap crap crap!” Sophie jumped up too and looked around.

 

“It’s okay honey, go and get some napkins.  They are right there on the blue table. And do not say the word crap.” Charlotte used the napkin she already had to begin wiping off her pants.  Someone from the next table offered her another napkin, which she used to start mopping off the table and her phone.  When Charlotte looked up from the table to thank them, no one was there and to her horror, Sophie was gone too.

 

* * *

 

As terrified as she was, Charlotte had expected this moment. She quickly grabbed her bag and her phone from the table and ran out of the bakery looking left and right to see if she could spot her.  She could only have had a sixty-second head start at most.

 

When Mary hired Charlotte she said that Sophie had a habit of wandering off. She told her Sophie liked to test her nannies.  The phone Charlotte kept with her was not her private mobile phone, but one Mary had given to her upon arrival.  Mary had admired Charlotte’s locket during the interview and when they brought her to London, Mary had one made to look exactly like Charlotte’s to give to Sophie. Mary explained that as Sophie got older, she was more creative in her escapes.  She might use public transportation, or a cab now. A GPS tracking device was placed into the locket and then sealed so Sophie could not remove it because Mary suspected Sophie would soon figure out it was in there.

 

She quickly hailed a cab and told the driver to continue driving north. Charlotte took three deep breaths to steady her fingers and activated the tracking device in Sophie’s necklace. From here she was able to give the cabbie specific directions. At the speed the tracer was moving, Charlotte guessed Sophie was in a cab as well.  They were nearing the center of London when the tracker slowed down. When the tracker stopped, Charlotte yelled for the cabbie to pull over.

 

She threw money at him saying, “keep the change” and leaped onto the sidewalk. When she looked at her phone again the signal had been lost completely.  Sophie’s locket was deactivated by an external source.  Looking up and down the block she was beginning to get dizzy.  She could feel her blood pressure rising to dangerous levels.  If she were not able to find a way to calm down, she would end up collapsing. 

 

Charlotte stopped moving at that point closed her eyes and took three deep breaths concentrating on the sound of the rush of blood pulsing through her ears. She pressed her hands to her ears to have something else to focus on.  The sounds of the street around her were muted. After another deep breath, she slowly opened her eyes and removed her hands. 

 

Something moved in an upstairs window that caught her eye.  It was the smallest movement that anyone would have missed, anyone except for Charlotte.  She had caught a glimpse of Sophie’s strawberry blonde hair.

 

There was a very brief moment of relief before the sights and sounds of the street around her came crashing back into her senses.  As if in slow motion Charlotte hurled herself through the door under the window.

 

The interior was cool and dark but clean.  There was a door at the end of the vestibule and stairs straight ahead of her.  Just as she was about to charge the stairs an older women walked out of the door holding up the mangled locket with a look of irritated wonder.

 

“Oh hello dear, you must be Charlotte.  I’m Mrs. Hudson.”

 

With a look of dawning comprehension, Charlotte realized where she was and the identity of the man in the bakery.

 

“SON OF A BITCH!” she yelled.


	2. Prince of Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte begins to get a peek at what she has unknowingly signed up for when she meets Sherlock for the first time.

Charlotte began to climb the stairs two at a time. When she finally reached the landing she stretched her arm out to grab the door handle. From what she had always been told, the door was almost always unlocked. Just as her fingers made contact with the knob, the door flung open and she saw the man from the bakery standing inside smirking.

Losing her balance she came crashing into the room tripping over her own feet falling hard on her left knee with a sickening crunch.

“Shit!” she spat out. Charlotte bit her lip to control the sudden wave of nausea that came over her and immediately looked for Sophie. She was standing on a leather armchair clapping her hands and giggling.

“Nanny Char! Sherly, Nanny Char found me! Nanny said shit! Sherly, Nanny said shit! Shit! Shit! Charlotte said shit!” Sophie was delighted to see Charlotte.

“Sophie, please don’t say shit,” she exhaled onto the floor as relief flooded her over- stimulated senses. “You’re ok. You’re safe. You’re ok. Oh my god.” Charlotte slowly looked up to find the man from the bakery, Sherlock Holmes, standing before her looking at his watch and shaking his head bemused with Sophie’s new vocabulary word.

“It took you nearly eight minutes to find her. Do you know what could have happened to her in eight minutes? Do you reali __ AHHH!” He was unable to finish his statement due to a very well placed punch to his outer thigh. Collapsing to the floor he glared at Charlotte and asked, “What was that for?”

“You son of a bitch. What the hell is the matter with you? Jesus…how could you do that to someone?” Charlotte was trying to breathe deeply to calm her fury realizing how very close to passing out she was. Her knee was throbbing. She could feel each throb of pain pulse through her blood. 

In the background Sophie was saying each new word so that it sounded like a strange inappropriate chant. “Shit! Shit! Sonovabitch! Jeeeeesus! Shit!” Her vision was becoming more impaired with large black dots appearing anywhere bright light once had been.

“What is going on, Sherlock why did you put this is my-? Oh Sherlock, what have you done now?” Mrs. Hudson had finally caught up with Charlotte and entered the room seeing Sherlock bent over rubbing is numb leg, Charlotte on the floor, and Sophie jumping in the leather chair chanting.

“Dear, are you alright? You don’t look well at all.” Mrs. Hudson pushed passed Sherlock who looked bewildered, thinking she had been speaking to him, and knelt before Charlotte.

“Mrs. Hudson, Charlotte said shit and hit Sherly. Shit! Shit! Sonovabitch! She hit Sherly, Mrs. Hudson. She hit him!” Sophie screamed with laughter.

 

“Sherlock, what’s the matter with her? What have you done?” Sherlock opened his mouth in outrage to defend himself but before he could answer Sophie began chanting again.

 

“U-oh, Charlotte is going to sleep Mrs. Hudson. It is not time for Nanny to sleep.” Sophie jumped off the chair and onto the floor in front of Charlotte. “Nanny Char, one two three! One two three, Nanny.” She became very still, very quietly whispering, “one-two-three. One-two-three Nanny. Remember? You say one-two- three and you stay awake.” 

As Sophie continued to chant the numbers one, two, three, Charlotte focused on her own breathing and gradually the spots that had blocked her vision began to disappear. When Charlotte was able to sit upright, she focused on Sophie.  
“Are you okay, Sophie?” She reached out and touched the little girls cheek.

“I feel fine. Sherly is here Nanny. We’re going to have a tea party and dance. He is the prince!” 

Charlotte snorted and said under her breath, “yeah, he’s a prince alright.” She threw a menacing glare at Sherlock, which was met with indifference. Sophie gently placed her hand on Charlotte’s leg and said, “You may not dance today. No dancing at all. Nope.” Using this new phrase as a chant she got up and began dancing around the room.

“What happened to her necklace?” Charlotte asked Sherlock.  
“It met an unfortunate end in Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen.” He replied with a cocky grin and winked at Mrs. Hudson.

She smacked him with the towel she was holding. “Sherlock, go help her up right now. Come on Sophie, let’s go make tea.” 

Sophie twirled out of the room with Mrs. Hudson and could be heard chanting all the way down the stairs.

“Can you get up on your own?” he asked though his hand was extended ready to help.  
“Of course.” Charlotte balanced her weight on her right leg, slowly stood up and limped to the recliner.

“Why did you destroy her locket? Mary was very clear that the locket should not be removed.” Charlotte observed Sherlock as he made his way, slowly, to the window to look down onto the street below.

“Why were you covering your ears outside and twirling about?” He countered.  
“I asked you first,” Charlotte replied simply.

“What difference does that make?” He seemed genuinely confused by this entire conversation process.

Charlotte just stared back at him waiting for him to catch up. With a sigh he began to answer.

“I was testing the device’s accuracy as well as your reaction time. Your first failure was letting me get so close at the bakery.” He drew breath to continue but Charlotte interrupted him.

“Are all Brits this freaking dramatic, or are you special? Jesus. Hang on, why didn’t Sophie react to seeing you? She’s been chanting your name all week!” Her anger was flaring again.

“She is a very clever child, I am teaching her how to behave in different situations. This is one of the… “games” we play. You’ve spent a month with her and you know she doesn’t allow strangers to touch her. You should have realized at that point that things were not as they seemed.” He walked back to his leather chair concealing the limp of his sore leg. Charlotte was pleased that it was still hurting him. 

“Now, why were you covering your ears?”

“I was over-stimulated and I needed to focus and I couldn’t do it with all of my senses on high alert. When I shut one or more down, it helps me concentrate,” she replied gingerly touching her knee.

“Hmm,” he looked unexpectedly satisfied with that answer and even respectful, to a degree. “Still, something needs to be done about your condition. If you’re going to be fainting every time something happens you will just make things worse. My guess is Mary and John are unaware of this flaw.” He sat back crossing his long legs, brought his hands together under his chin and stared at her. “And I’m not dramatic, I’m thorough.”

“I…there’s…I’m…” Charlotte took a deep breath and started again. “There is nothing wrong with me. I have high blood pressure, which I take medication for. John and Mary are aware of this. I have never had to test its effectiveness under duress. When I accepted this position I was under the impression it was to ease Sophie’s transition into primary school. In fairness I think anyone in my situation, losing a child, would warrant a panic attack.” 

Charlotte could feel her cheeks getting warmer and knew her face was betraying her. She was embarrassed at her loss of control today. He was right. And she hated him for it. She would like nothing more than to smack the smug expression from his face. Or perhaps just throw something at him to make him look anywhere else but at her. She reached again for her aching knee to massage it.

“You will have a terrible bruise on your knee, possibly a hairline fracture. You’ll need to put ice on it soon.” He made no move to get the ice and was still staring at her.

“I’m fine.” She mumbled and then raised her hands to her face to rub her eyes. A headache was beginning. As the rush of adrenalin tapered, her whole body began to ache. 

“You’re not,” he said in a very soft, low measured voice. “Neither is Sophie. You are both in danger.” His gaze was still intense but every nerve in Charlotte seemed to hum with energy forcing her to sit up straight.

Peering through her fingers she asked, “What are you talking about? What danger?”

“Did you know Sophie has been deleting messages from your mobile phone for the past month?”

“What? No, of course not. She has? When?”

“She has recited each one to me and I am in the process of eliminating suspects from your past.” Sherlock sat comfortably in his chair, but Charlotte could tell from his eyes how excited he was to have a puzzle to solve.

“My past? What are you talking about? Nothing has happened to me! I’ve been an educator for the last sixteen years. I have had two boyfriends, both of whom wouldn’t be able to carry out a devious act if their lives depended on it. So, what exactly, are you talking about?” Charlotte was trying to keep her voice even and quiet but the smirk on his face was irritating her.

She was grateful for Sophie at that moment because she hopped into the room breaking Sherlock’s gaze.

“Can we dance? Sherly can we dance?” Sophie grabbed Sherlock’s hands and made a huge display of pulling him from the chair. 

His conversation with Charlotte seemingly over, he gave his full attention to Sophie and got out of the chair. He took her hands and began to dance with her.

Mrs. Hudson brought in the tea tray that fortunately also had a bottle of aspirin and an ice pack.

“Mrs. Hudson, thank you so much. I don’t know how you knew, but thank you.” Charlotte grabbed the bottle, removed three and swallowed with a gulp of hot tea.

“You’re welcome dear. Sophie knew. She always seems to know, doesn’t she? Just like Sherlock. I bet she keeps John and Mary busy.” Mrs. Hudson smiled at Sherlock and left the room. 

Charlotte looked over at Sophie. She was standing on Sherlock’s feet and laughing wildly as he danced with her. When she begged for him to spin faster, he lifted her into his arms and they spun around. The room was very warm and Charlotte was exhausted from the stress of the last thirty minutes. Charlotte watched the pair spinning around until they were a blur. Charlotte laid her head back and closed her eyes. 

She felt her muscles release gradually at first and then felt as if each one was deflating, except instead of feeling lighter and weightless, she felt a heavy sinking feeling. Charlotte was in the dark and finding it difficult to breathe. She could not move her arms or legs. She was aware of them, but she could not lift them. The more she panicked the heavier she felt. Charlotte could hear voices but could not understand them. They were close but seemed to be coming from down a long tunnel. If she could just sit up, if she could just move, she would be able to hear them better.

She became vaguely aware of movement. She could smell the fresh scent of soap. It was not an overwhelming scent, just barely distinct from the air surrounding her. She felt something smooth and warm against her cheek like well-worn silk. She could feel gentle vibrations and realized someone was carrying her and speaking. They were not speaking to her. There was no questioning tone or urgency to the voice. She recognized the measured cadence of the voice and found it soothing. She somehow knew she was safe. Charlotte stopped struggling with consciousness and let go.


	3. Close Proximity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte wakes to find herself in an interesting position. She quickly discovers that things are not at all what they seem.

The first thing Charlotte became blindingly aware of was the pain in her knee.    When she opened her eyes, she noticed it was nighttime.  With a rush, everything came back to her before she had blacked out.

 

“Sophie!” Charlotte sat up suddenly aware that she had no idea where the little girl had gone. Her throat was scratchy and her mouth was dry.  Her voice sounded hoarse as if she had not used it in a week.

 

Charlotte was not in her own room.  She was wearing her own pajamas, but she was definitely in a different bed in a different room.

 

Panic was coursing through her veins.  Where was Sophie? Was she okay?  What the hell had happened today, or yesterday? What day was it?  How long had she been out?

 

Stupidly she jumped out of bed, forgetting about her knee and fell in a heap on the floor tangled in the blanket crying out in pain.

 

“Oh good, you’re not dead. I’m afraid Mrs. Hudson misjudged your weight earlier.   I imagine you are dehydrated and have questions.” Sherlock was standing in the doorway fully dressed with a silk robe thrown over his clothes.

 

Charlotte opened her mouth but before she could speak he interjected, “Of course you have questions, you’re American,” with an exasperated sigh. 

 

“Sophie?” Was all Charlotte could get out.

 

Sherlock considered her for a moment and then said, “Fine.  She is at home with Mary and John.  We felt it would be better not to move you.”  Sherlock looked her over with curiosity as she sighed deeply with relief.

 

“What time is it?” Charlotte asked.

“Nearly midnight,” he answered.

 

“Coffee?” She whispered.

 

“Surely not. There could be tea though. I yelled for Mrs. Hudson about an hour ago, but she hasn’t responded.  Do you always sound like that?”  He was looking at Charlotte trying to figure out how she worked.

 

Instead of answering this time, Charlotte shook her head and began to untangle herself from the sheets. As she was beginning to stand he stuck his hand out for her to take it and this time she did.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered holding his hand as support she said, “I’m sure Mrs. Hudson isn’t awake right now. Don’t wake her.”

 

“Of course.” He was watching her very closely as she let go of his hand and began to limp out of the room.

 

Charlotte made her way, unsteadily to the kitchen.  Opening the cabinet to the right of the sink, she grabbed a glass and filled it with water.  The first gulp stung her raw throat but she downed the glass, took a deep breath, refilled it and downed that one too.

 

“How did you know where the glasses are kept?” Sherlock was standing awkwardly behind the breakfast counter watching her.

 

“You’re right handed,” she said without looking at him.  She carefully walked out of the kitchen with her third glass of water and back to the bathroom.

 

Sherlock contemplated Charlotte for a moment before beginning to follow her.

 

Charlotte was holding on to the sink for support with her eyes closed.

 

“Are you okay?” He asked in a quieter voice than he had before.

 

“I will be,” she said taking a deep breath and finished with, “but I thought I was supposed to be the one asking questions.”  Charlotte’s eyes were still closed.  She was concentrating on her breathing and controlling the nausea she was experiencing from the pain in her knee.

 

Her comment was met with silence and she was too groggy to prod him into any explanations.

 

“Please, can you get the shower going?  I can’t figure it out at the moment. I feel gross and I want to wash up.   And if there are any aspirins that aren’t laced with paralytics that would be fantastic.”  She slowly looked up at him in time to see him look slightly uneasy.  He was looking down.

 

“They were regular aspirins. It was the tea that was laced with muscle relaxers, but as I said before Mrs. Hudson…” he immediately stopped speaking when Charlotte glanced at him through the mirror.

 

“The shower…I’ll get that going,” he said quietly making a mental note.

 

When she heard the water running she opened her eyes again to see the bathroom empty.  Grateful to finally have a moment alone she closed and locked the bathroom door, undressed and gently eased into the shower.

 

The feel of the water and the soap was intoxicating.  The scent was subtle and comforting.  As the hot water coming out of the spout began to cool, she remembered she did not have clean clothes to change into.  Immediately following this thought she tried to figure out how she woke up in her own pajamas.

 

When Charlotte got out, she reached for the towel hanging close to the door and wrapped herself up. She used her fingers to start brushing out the knots in her long brown hair.  She sat on the edge of the bathtub and finally looked at her knee. It was not as awful as she had expected, but it still looked gross.  The swelling had reduced but the most violent shades of red, and purple were blending together on the side of her kneecap. 

 

Charlotte braced herself to stand and walk back to the sink.  Looking off to the side she noticed a robe she had not seen before. She was so distracted when first coming into the bathroom she did not really look around.  Drying the rest of her body she transferred the towel to her head to absorb the excess water and put the robe on.  It was clearly one of Sherlock’s robes. On Charlotte the robe was huge. Charlotte is, on a good day, 5’0”. Sherlock had to be at least a foot taller than that if not more.  She was so tired from the effort of the shower that she was okay with the idea of putting her pajamas back on. 

 

Tying the belt securely around her, she reached for the clothes she had discarded before the shower. They were not there.

 

She immediately looked at the door and saw it was unlocked.

 

“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” she said under her breath.  Sighing deeply she took the towel off her head, squeezed more water out, set the towel on the sink and slowly walked out to the living room, adjusting her necklace which had become tangled in her hair.

 

Walking into the living room, Sherlock was standing on the coffee table fussing with hanging papers on a wall with fuzzy textured wallpaper.  She saw the tea tray Mrs. Hudson had apparently left while she was in the shower, plus the aspirin bottle from earlier and poured her self a cup of black tea.

 

“Is this safe to drink?” Charlotte asked wryly. 

 

“Don’t talk. I’m thinking,” Sherlock said.

 

Charlotte looked irritated but was getting a much better sense of the personality of the man standing on the table.  Instead of responding in kind, she took her cup of tea back to the kitchen and stuck it in the microwave to heat it up.

 

Satisfied it would properly scald her if she tried to drink a full gulp, she removed it and walked back to the recliner chair she had passed out in earlier.

 

She sat quietly sipping the tea, which was not very good, but definitely soothing to her sore throat. She watched as Sherlock “thought” over by his wall.  She spent her own silent time considering everything that had happened and tried to put together the pieces that remained fuzzy. 

 

“What do you see?” Sherlock jumped off the table and stood back where she was sitting.

 

“Could you be more specific?” Charlotte was feeling a little stronger, but still incredibly tired.

 

“The wall! The wall. What do you see?” Sherlock was maddened with her obtuseness. 

 

“I see the wall. I see wallpaper. It’s fuzzy.  Is that a British thing? Every room has wallpaper. We don’t really use wallpaper so much in the States. We prefer the look of clean lines and perhaps one accent wall with a design or paper, but never any nearly as busy as this, or fuzzy for that matter.  Did you choose it for the sensory stimulation?  Does it help you to solve puzzles by stroking it?” Charlotte looked up innocently at him, smiled and purposefully slurped her tea in the least elegant way she could think of.

 

The desired effect was reached and completely worth it.  Sherlock looked baffled.  He opened and closed his mouth twice before Charlotte took pity on him and continued her thoughts. 

 

“Jesus Christ, would you relax?  You’re so dramatic.  I know what you’re asking about.  I see a yellow smiley face with what I can only assume are bullet holes.  I see my medical records, my transcripts from undergraduate and graduate studies. There are some photos of myself, as well as pictures of known terrorists and other generally classified ‘bad guys.’  My guess is you also have some old case files as well, but I don’t think you have hung them just yet.  Probably still in the bag over there,” she said pointing to the messenger bag on the floor tucked poorly out of sight.  “Tell me, are you crazy?” She looked him now for an answer while she continued sipping her tea.

 

“I…what? No! I’m not crazy. I am a high functioning sociopath.” Sherlock lifted his chin at the last bit but his face immediately fell when Charlotte shook her head at him. 

 

“No. You’re not,” she said as she slowly stood up and walked closer to the wall holding her cup.

 

“What? Of course I am. What do you mean?” Sherlock stood uncomfortably close to her looking down and demanding an answer.

 

“Don’t talk. I’m thinking,” was her only response, once again indulging in an obnoxious sip of tea. 

 

Sherlock was becoming so agitated Charlotte coughed to cover the laugh threatening to ruin her dominance over this exchange. 

 

“What do- ,” he began again before Charlotte interrupted him.

 

“Shoosh!  I’m thinking.  Go do something else.  Over there,” she casually flicked her hand towards the kitchen.

 

With a huff he dramatically swept his robe and jumped into his leather chair, pouting like a child who’s been refused a treat.

 

Looking at his wall of suspects meant nothing to Charlotte.  She was not surprised to see her transcripts from college, her medical file containing the reports added here in London during her physical, or the correspondence between herself and Mary prior to being hired. What disturbed Charlotte were surveillance photos of herself.  Some of them were taken here in London, but others were clearly taken in America. Aside from pictures she had posted to her social media pages, the rest of them were candid’s on the streets.

 

Turning away, she walked to the window to look down.  Her mind was swirling with information.  She could not understand why there were surveillance pictures of her. She had led a fairly boring life. She went to a state university, graduated with her B.S. in education and immediately followed that up with a M. Ed. degree in special education.   She had never been arrested, never done any illegal substances, and had had her first sip of alcohol when it was legal in the United States; twenty-one.

 

She closed her eyes to get her thoughts together.  All that did though was make her realize how tired she was.  The muscle relaxers must still be in her system, twelve hours later.

 

“Mrs. Hudson took your clothes to be laundered,” Sherlock said absently watching her back.

 

Sherlock’s deep voice brought her back to the moment.  “I thought I told you not to wake her,” she said opening her eyes again looking out the window.  London was a lot like New York City, in that it never seemed to stop.  Someone was always awake and out.  Constant motion.

 

“She was already awake, she had heard you, um, fall out of bed,” he said carefully, standing up.

 

“Mrs. Hudson knows how to pick locks too, does she? ” Charlotte turned to look in his direction only to be mildly surprised at his close proximity to her.

 

“No, I um…” he started.  He was not expecting her to turn around and realized too late he over estimated his ability to dominate this conversation simply by trying to intimidate her with his height.

 

“Wanted a sneak peak while I was in the shower?” Charlotte supplied for him.

 

“Of course not,” he scoffed at her. “ I -” he tried again.

 

“What am I not beautiful enough? Not your type? Do you even have a type? Women?  Men? Both, perhaps?” 

 

 As she said each sentence she walked closer to him and spoke softer.  She could tell immediately how flustered he was becoming.  His cheeks were flushed and his mouth was opening in the hopes of speaking but closed again realizing he was at a loss for words.  He was out of his element and he knew it…he knew Charlotte realized it too.  He was unable to look her straight in the eyes.

 

“ I was right there. You must have been curious.” Reaching him so that there was no more than an inch separating their bodies she looked up to his down turned face and whispered “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve seen me with no clothes on though, is it ‘ _Sherly_ ’?”  His eyes met hers briefly betraying any confidence he had once had in his own abilities of outsmarting everyone in the room.

 

She slowly ran a finger down the left side of his arm.  He opened his mouth, but no words came out.  Instead his eyes trailed the progress her finger made until she brought it to rest on his chest.  “ How did I get into my pajamas, Sherlock?  Surely I didn’t do it.  I can barely stand now twelve hours later.”  She was whispering so softly now, but she was so close, he could hear her perfectly.

 

“Charlotte, I -” Sherlock tried to start an explanation but her proximity was overwhelming him. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.  He breathed in to steady himself but lost his thought once more.

She smelled like soap and the faintest hint of gardenia, perhaps the lingering notes of her perfume from earlier. Her long hair was still wet and dripping on the silk robe.  She was so close, a drop landed on his hand as he had begun lifting it to explain himself.  The words were not coming to him.  He kept staring at the drop of water on his hand desperately trying to find the right words to use.  He could feel the warmth of her body.  She was much too close to him. 

 

When he finally looked her in the eyes, she smiled at him.

 

“I win.”  Charlotte began to carefully walk around him to the chair, taking care not to touch him again.  Tucking her good leg under her, she sat and watched the fire.

 

“Wha- what did you mean earlier?” He asked, sitting across from her, staring at his own clasped hands, rubbing them once or twice together.

 

Charlotte looked at him and waited until he returned her gaze.  Looking him directly in the eye she said, “You are not a sociopath, high functioning or otherwise.”  Charlotte smiled, but it was more in sad acknowledgement of the hunger for information in his eyes than anything.

 

“I am,” he said looking at his own hands.

 

“I’ve studied human behavior. I’ve seen sociopath’s at work. I know when I am in the presence of someone who is not what they seem.  You are not a sociopath.  It is a label, a façade you’ve hidden behind to excuse you for your appalling manners, lack of social skills and emotional distance.  Aside from Mary and John who I daresay know you best, this excuse works on everyone else?  It’s easier to remain distant than to feel feelings, isn’t it?”

 

“I thought…” he began.

 

Sherlock had no idea how Charlotte had bested him.  He was used to being the smartest person in the room.  He shifted in his seat as he considered her.

 

“You are intelligent, but you surround yourself with idiots.  You use reason and logic to deal with situations.  You are acutely observant.  You distance yourself emotionally.  Not because you aren’t capable of having or expressing human emotions.  You actively make the choice to use people in situations you feel warrant their purpose in your life. Once their purpose has been served, you spare a few moments considering the entire situation, and tuck it back into the corners of your memory, where you alone can recall them. But you don’t. That would complicate things with the people who remain; the people who have developed relationships with you. A real sociopath however, has no real relationships.  No empathy towards another living soul.  Everything he or she builds is a lie.  Everything.

 

“You care too much about the few people closest to you.  They keep you tethered to sanity.  Perhaps it is only by a single thread, but it is strong.  You need them and you know you need them. Have you ever let someone love you, really love you? Would you have realized if they were trying? Would you have let them stay?”

 

Sherlock just looked back at her with the most peculiar look on his face. 

 

“If you are unconvinced with my reasoning, there is Sophie,” Charlotte said.

 

  At the name of the child he raised his eyes to her once again in question.

 

“You love her. A sociopath, at any level, is incapable of real love.  You’re brilliant, but even you cannot fake that emotion where she is concerned,” Charlotte said. “You’re instinct to protect her, to be sure she is well taken care of…that is love.”

 

He remained silent sitting back in his chair staring at the fire.

 

She looked at her teacup grimaced and put it down.  Rubbing her fingers over her eyes and taking a deep breath she braced herself for standing.

 

“Where are you going?” Startled, Sherlock moved to the edge of his chair as if to catch her if she fell.

 

“I figured the plan was probably to keep me here all night.  So you won’t mind if I go back to sleep, correct?” She asked looking at him with a grim expression.

 

“No, of course,” he said extending his arm towards the back of the apartment where the rooms were.

 

“I do want to know the reason behind this sleepover though.”  She slowly walked away from him.

 

He watched her go, then sat back again in his chair where he would remain for the remainder of the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that day, when Charlotte had woken again, her clothes from the day before, including her pajamas were neatly folded on the corner of the bed and a tea tray had been placed on the dresser.

 

After freshening up and dressing, she left the room to find her purse, jacket, and keys waiting for her on the breakfast bar, along with a note that said simply, ‘Go home.’

 

“Charming,” she said aloud to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to stop and take a moment to say that while the characters are based around those on the BBC's Sherlock, I'm making little changes here and there from what we learned when he was in his mind palace as he was dying in H.L.V. It's not supposed to be accurate entirely. So there are going to be moments that TV Sherlock wouldn't do or wouldn't say.


	4. The Questions Unanswered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte learns the next part of the plan. After questioning John and Mary, Charlotte hears information she can't quite process yet.

During the cab ride back to the Watson’s, Charlotte tried again to piece together the bits of information she had received over the course of the last twenty-one hours. The only trouble was that absolutely nothing fit together.

 

She had already figured that she had been detained at Sherlock’s so that Mary and John could go through her things.  But why was it necessary to drug her?  Mary could have asked her.  Charlotte would have been more than happy to share whatever information she had if she thought it would be helpful to protect Sophie.  She had brought so few things, she could not see the justification of keeping her away all night.

 

Before long she had reached her destination.  When she opened her purse to pay the cabbie, she noticed a different phone than the one that had been there the day before.

 

She paid the man, got out and examined the phone.  It was new and the most recent model released from the brand.  To her surprise she had an unread text.

 

This is your new phone. –SH

 

In the time that it had taken her to open the door and walk into the kitchen her phone had chimed thrice more.

 

No one has this number except John, Mary and myself. –SH

 

There is a GPS tracking device activated at all times. -SH

 

Why aren’t you responding? -SH

 

“Oh my God he’s worse than a fourteen year old girl,” Charlotte said to the empty room.

 

“Yes, he does prefer to text,” John said as he came into the room with Mary.  “And gets pretty impatient when he doesn’t get a response within a reasonable amount of time; which, to Sherlock is exactly sixty seconds.” John half grinned as he looked at Mary.

 

“Uh-huh, well I’m not the sort of girl that asks ‘how high?’ when someone tells me to jump, so he’ll have to get over himself,” Charlotte said, tossing the phone onto the counter. She took a seat and looked expectantly at the pair.

 

“I know you have questions. I want to give you answers I’m just not sure where you want me to begin.  Do you have a specific question?” Mary asked Charlotte slowly approaching the table.

 

Charlotte spread her hands in front her. “How about you start from the beginning.”

 

Mary looked at John for support. He gave her back a small rub and they came to sit at the table with Charlotte.

 

“Charlotte, as you know, my past is a bit…colorful, if you like,” Mary began.  “I have done a lot of terrible things that I am not proud of. I had a boss, who only gave me information I would need to complete my mission.  There were not a lot of flowery details and I am sure, in the course of my…employment,” she said the word slowly as if testing it, “there may have been some unnecessary missions.”  Mary paused to take a breath and John jumped in.

 

“We believe, someone is targeting our family because of Mary’s past.  About seven months ago Mary and I began receiving ambiguous messages.  When I received the first message, I thought it was a wrong number and deleted it. Later that night, Mary mentioned she had a similar experience that afternoon.”  John and Mary shared another look and she reached for his hand.

 

“Mary has had more experience with breaking codes in her, former, field of work than myself. When we realized the significance of the messages we began looking into it.  They would arrive sporadically for the next couple of months,” John had paused to breath, but Charlotte interrupted him. 

 

“What did your messages say? Sherlock never told me what mine said, only that Sophie had read and deleted them.”

 

John and Mary exchanged a significant look and Mary spoke.

 

“The first one John received was a request for John to call the number back.  Not recognizing the number he didn’t.  Mine later that day said something similar. I also did not recognize the number, but Sophie was at a play date with a friend from the Child Care center, so I immediately called back.  It rang for ages.  I became more worried, but tried once more and someone finally picked up.  The man on the other end was clueless. He said it was a mobile phone he had found in the rubbish bin on the corner,” Mary took a deep breath to continue. 

 

“About a month later new message showed up again,” she began.

 

“Wait, you did nothing about it for a month?” Charlotte asked losing patience.

 

“I gave the number to Sherlock at the time.  With our combined resources we could not turn up anything other than the mobile was in America when the call was placed,” Mary supplied.

 

Mary looked at Charlotte for any signs of further interruption and continued.  “This time the texter said, ‘She’s in danger,’ and we realized it was no longer a strange wrong number.  There was a clear purpose behind this. This particular message came to John’s mobile.  He immediately contacted me to check in figuring the message was in reference to either Sophie or myself.  Also, the number was different this time.  We once again approached Sherlock with it, who contacted Scotland Yard and they were on the case.”

 

During that speech Charlotte’s phone had chimed twice more.  John grimaced at her each time eventually asking if he could just answer Sherlock back to get him to stop messaging. 

 

Mary seemed to be waiting for Charlotte to respond to what she had told her.  Bringing her hands to her face, Charlotte pressed her hands over her eyes blacking out the entire room.

 

“Sherlock had pictures of me from back home.  Surveillance pictures from close to the time you’re referring to.”  Charlotte had not actually considered the full weight of the potential danger Sherlock said she was in until now.

 

“We believe you are connected. The photos were taken at my request when we were doing the background check on you,” Mary said.

 

Charlotte snorted at the pair of them.  “That’s rich, coming from an ex-assassin and military veteran. I needed to be checked out with surveillance photos?”

 

Charlotte thought a moment longer and realized it still had holes.  Big gaping ones. There was a memory in the back of her subconscious mind struggling to come forward.  It brought with it the sense of panic and fear she felt moments before falling asleep each night.

 

“No. No, that can’t be right,” she said lifting her head to stare at Mary.  Big black spots were blocking her vision from the immediate release of pressure from her eyes.  “I didn’t apply for this position until November. The photo’s he has of me are easily from September, and the time you started receiving those messages,” she stopped briefly to count out on her fingers, “was in August!” she said looking from John to Mary with more suspicion this time.

 

“Late July,” John said, getting up to answer his mobile which had begun ringing immediately after he had responded to Sherlock with Charlotte’s phone. ~~~~

Charlotte’s face drained of color. “I…just don’t understand,” she said regaining composure. 

 

“Charlotte, I know you’re really getting frustrated.  I promise you, I would never have brought you here if we couldn’t keep you safe. But, the less you know, the better and safer you will be.”

 

“What?” Charlotte began standing up.  “Brought me here? Keep me safe?  I’m…I’m not understanding you.  I…I don’t…why?”  Charlotte began feeling dizzy and immediately sat back down.

 

John had put Charlotte’s phone back on the table and looked at Mary in what looked like resignation.

“Sherlock and I have many enemies and some are shared.  We haven’t narrowed it down yet.  Our mystery texter is most likely male.  We just aren’t certain what his end game is.  As soon as you arrived, John and I stopped receiving the messages. We were wary of the silence. We changed mobile numbers, and gave you a new phone with a private number as well.  Sophie came to me a week after you moved in and showed me the first message.”   She breathed deeply again staring at Charlotte, waiting for her to say something.

 

Charlotte brought her hands up to her chin and rested her head there for a moment, thinking.

 

“Charlotte?” Mary asked.

 

“What did the message say?” Charlotte asked the pair.

 

“Charlotte,” John began, “the important thing to remember is_”

 

“What.  Did.  The. Message.  Say?” Charlotte stared at them bringing her hands down firmly on the table at the last word.

 

“It said, ‘don’t get too comfortable dearest’,” Mary said, looking at her clasped hands.

 

“What is the plan, then?” Charlotte sounded as exhausted as she felt. 

 

“We need to determine just how close he is and how close he can get.  We don’t know what information he has just yet, or what he intends to do going from here,” John said.

 

“Since the original plan was for you to live here with us, working with Sophie, we can assume, a change in this arrangement will throw him off enough to make a mistake, and hopefully lead us to him before anyone gets hurt,” Mary said looking at Charlotte, waiting for her to put it together on her own.

 

“I’m to be the bait then?” A strange calm had started to pass through Charlotte.  It was not the sort of calm that comes with peace, it was the type of chilly resolve felt at the precise moment of defeat.

 

“No!” Both John and Mary interjected at the same time.

 

“You will be perfectly safe living in Sherlock’s flat.  You’ll stay in John’s old room. Nothing will change, aside from where you sleep at night,” Mary said.

 

“Why can’t I just go back home then? If I’m not bate, what would it matter where I’m living?” Charlotte asked, knowing full well that would not be happening.

 

“Charlotte, please understand. We can’t do that.” Mary reached for Charlotte’s hand but dropped it when Charlotte immediately stood up.

 

“What about Sophie? Our work?  What happens to all that we have been doing? My work with her is important. Will she come to me or will I be brought here?  Or am I in exile at his place until further notice?”  Charlotte was rambling.  She could feel her blood pressure rising and she was getting more irritated by the minute. “What about her birthday party? How am I supposed to arrange that from there?  Do you know he actually told me to stop talking so he could stare at his damn wall? Next I’m sure he’ll tell me to ‘stop thinking,’ or something else equally maddening.”

 

Mary exhaled deeply while John snorted at this last comment.  Charlotte continued to ramble to her self and pace. Her face was almost completely devoid of color except for her cheeks, which were beginning to become splotchy and pink.

 

“Charlotte, you need to sit now,” John stood up and began walking towards her.

 

“Oh Jesus, why? You have more to tell me?  It gets worse?” Charlotte’s eyes were getting wider in response to the black dots appearing making it more difficult to see. John took her upper arm and guided her back to the chair.

 

“Just breathe. Relax. You will be safe. I know he seems…eccentric, but you will be fine,” John was speaking in an even monotone often used at the bedside of the sick or elderly.

 

“Hang on, you said you think he’s after your family.  What do I have to do with this?  Why is where I live of any importance to this person?” Charlotte tried tugging her arm out of John’s hand, but could not shake him loose.

 

“Charlotte, please,” John said as he forced her back into the chair.

 

“Sophie’s studies will be put on temporary hold.  You will not be a hostage in Sherlock’s flat, but you cannot leave without him or John. You are a very important piece to this puzzle.  I will be with Sophie doing research from here. I’ve reached out to my contacts in the States as well as abroad.  Mycroft has been active-” Charlotte began a hysterical giggle.  Mary and John shared a nervous look as John reached for Charlotte’s wrist to take her pulse.

 

“What the _hell_ is a ‘Mycroft?”  

 

“Mycroft is Sherlock’s brother,” John said softly watching Charlotte carefully, still taking her pulse. He looked at Mary with concern.

 

More nervous laughter escaped her lips as she tried to choke out, “I’m sorry but can we just spend a moment on ‘who the hell names their children Sherlock and Mycroft’? Did they have _any_ friends growing up?  Who does that?”

 

“She’s going into hysterics. We need to finish this conversation later,” John spoke softly to Mary under Charlotte’s continued giggles.

 

“John, there just isn’t time, you know that,” Mary pleaded with him.

 

“Then you had better make it quick,” John said impatiently.

 

“Charlotte, you need to pay attention.  None of us is safe, really safe, at the moment.  Moving you to Sherlock’s will disrupt any plans the texter may have organized and force him to make a change in his routine.  We will be able to catch him so much easier this way,” Mary said reaching once more for Charlotte’s hand.

 

As if a switch had been flicked, Charlotte immediately stopped laughing, tugged her arm out of John’s hand and coldly looked at Mary.  “He drugged me and undressed me, God knows what he did when I was unconscious. Oh Jesus, he wouldn’t have…” Charlotte looked horrified as she stared and Mary.

 

“Oh Charlotte,” Mary exhaled, relieved Charlotte had chosen this topic to fixate on, “Sherlock did drug you yes, though technically it was Mrs. Hudson administering the dose, but I promise I was the one who got you into your pajamas.  Sherlock really doesn’t think like that. You are perfectly safe with him in regards to…that.”  Mary shrugged.

 

“You will be safe, Charlotte. Sherlock will see to that. He understands how important you are to our family,” John said gently. 

 

“Why did he have to drug me though?  You just wanted my information, right? I would have given it to you willingly. And what information were you hoping to find.  You said you already completed an extensive background check on me,” Charlotte pleaded with John and Mary.

 

John moved back to his chair next to Mary again and said, “We cannot tell you that.  It was necessary and when it is safe,” Mary interrupted him, “When we feel it is safe,” patting his hand.

 

“Yes, when we feel it is safe, we will tell you everything,” John finished.

 

Covering her face with both hands she muttered, “When do I have to leave?”  Looking from John to Mary she received her answer. “Tonight?  Are you freaking kidding me? I’m not…I don’t…” Charlotte stopped talking when her phone chimed again.  She threw a disgusted look at the phone, thought it over and looked directly at John. 

 

“What is there to stop me from leaving the country myself? Run away. I’m thirty-seven years old. You can’t threaten me or force me to stay here,” Charlotte sat up straighter in her chair fixing John and Mary with a steely look.

 

“Yeah, uh, it’s been arranged with a buddy of ours at Scotland Yard.  You’re on the No-Fly list and if you try to leave the immediate area, without one of us, you’ll be picked up by the authorities and held until one of us can come to get you,” John looked both amused and uneasy telling her this information.

 

After a moment of staring at the both of them incredulously she said, “I am going to need a prescription to get through this experience.”

 

“I’ve got some here for you to choose from,” John said, pulling several bottles out of a basket on the counter.


	5. The Pink Ones Are Pretty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte is having a difficult time adjusting to the recent changes in her life.

Saying goodbye to Sophie was harder for Charlotte.  Sophie kept telling her that Sherly liked pink, liked to dance, played the violin, was funny, liked to experiment in the kitchen and also liked shooting the wall.  To Sophie, Charlotte was going to the best sleepover.  Ever.

 

In the time it took her to pack she received six more messages from Sherlock.

 

 

Would it bother you if I ignored you for several days at a time?- SH

I often do not eat. -SH

The kitchen is for experiments. -SH

Are we starting the ‘not talking’ part already? –SH

Are you not sure how to text? Why are you not responding? –SH

 

Feeling extremely overwhelmed and frustrated she growled at her phone as she responded. 

  1.            Stop writing “SH” after each text. I know who the hell it is. 2.  Leave me alone.



 

Within three seconds of her message being delivered her phone chimed once more.

The door is unlocked. -SH

 

At the last message she marched back into the kitchen thrusting her phone into John’s face.  John simply shook his head without answering and Mary grimaced at her and said Mrs. Hudson was there and would know if something was wrong, or if someone had broken in. Charlotte could only gape at her in horror.

 

Armed with her prescription medication and her bags, Charlotte arrived at Baker Street three hours later.  Dropping everything at the foot of the stairs she rang Mrs. Hudson first.

 

If she was going to be stuck here, at least she could count on Mrs. Hudson being her ally.  There was no answer and the lights were off in her apartment.  Charlotte was feeling worse about this by the minute.

 

Climbing the stairs to Sherlock’s apartment for the second time in twenty-four hours she considered her options.  She could always just hide.  She could leave now, make it look like she had been taken, and hide out until it was all over.  Charlotte stopped on the top stair and looked back down towards the door.

 

“Don’t bother.  You won’t get farther than the entrance to Heathrow.”  Sherlock appeared at the door looking annoyed.  He grabbed one of her bags and threw it unceremoniously into the apartment. 

 

“I got the impression you wouldn’t be here,” Charlotte said flatly.

 

“Of course I am here. Lestrade has nothing new and is completely useless and I’m still researching you.  I don’t ever answer the door.  I hate doorbells.  You’ll stay in John’s old room. It’s a bit dusty and filled with odds and ends. I’ve not had anyone else staying here since John moved out.  On occasion he’ll stay here if he and Mary have a row, but that hasn’t happened in a while.”  He looked at Charlotte with narrowed eyes as if she was responsible and closed the door, making a point to lock the door dramatically so she would see.

 

“I wasn’t actually going to leave, you know,” Charlotte said to the room for Sherlock had already walked back into the kitchen and sat with his eyes pressed to a microscope.

 

Having reached her emotional limit for the day, she carried her bags to the back room she had woken up in that morning and quietly closed the door.

 

She opened the window to air it out.  It was still pretty cold for March, but the room felt stuffy and smelled stale.  She changed the sheets and cleaned off the dresser while she synced her new phone with the music library she had on her computer.  The closet was just sad.  Fortunately when she left the States, she did not bring all of her belongings with her. 

 

The finishing touch was adding the quilt her mother had made for her when she was a child.  She took a deep steadying breath and curled up on the bed.  Exhaustion got the better of her and she gave in to the tears that had been threatening for hours.

 

Around nine o’clock that night, Charlotte realized she had not eaten anything besides two chicken nuggets from Sophie’s lunch plate at two o’clock. From what both John and Mary told her, Sherlock rarely ate and probably would not have any food in the apartment.

 

Before leaving her room, she changed into her favorite lay-about out fit; black leggings and a long sleeve t-shirt with a baggy wrap-around sweater. If there was nothing to eat, she could throw shoes on and go out, or just go to bed.  The apartment seemed quiet and still.  She walked through the hall into the kitchen, hoping to at least find some crackers and peanut butter.

 

Miraculously the fridge was fully stocked and Charlotte said a silent prayer in Mrs. Hudson’s name.  That woman was a saint.

 

Grabbing a few ingredients, she started moving about the kitchen getting a feeling for the place.  Everything she needed was there, just in strange places. Digging in one of the cabinets she even found a bottle of wine.  The microscope had been moved so the breakfast bar was clear.

 

Finding the skillet, she set the stove on medium-low and added olive oil. Cutting a few green onions, she tossed them into the pan where they made the most delicious sizzle sound. The scent hit her senses and for a moment she was home.  Trying to keep that feeling as long as she could she grabbed her phone, went to her favorite ‘go-to’ playlist, put the ear buds in, so as not disturb Sherlock, and tried to relax her muscles.

 

She found mushrooms in the fridge and fresh tomatoes.  Chopping the mushrooms coarsely, she threw them in the pan as well.  She briefly stirred the contents of the pan and let it sizzle and brown.  Returning to the cutting board she began cutting the tomatoes.   Before long, Charlotte was lost in her music and her cooking.  She was properly tipsy at this point and giggled when she saw only a quarter of the bottle of wine was gone.  Charlotte was a lightweight.  She rarely drank and with her stomach being empty, her tolerance was extremely low.   If she closed her eyes she could imagine she was in her very own kitchen singing and dancing like always. 

 

When she looked in the cupboard she almost screamed with excitement. Mrs. Hudson had also bought coffee. It was official she loved Mrs. Hudson.  Tomorrow she would have to make something and bring it to her.  Grabbing the coffee she looked around the room to find something to brew it in.  It took her a moment to figure it out, but when she smelled the first few drops she sighed in content.

 

Without Charlotte realizing it, Sherlock had appeared in the doorway and was watching the scene in front of him.  Charlotte was singing pretty loud at this point as she turned to grab another glass of wine.  Bringing it to her lips she saw him in the doorway.  Before taking a sip, she stopped, tipped the glass in his direction and drained the contents of the glass.

 

Sherlock felt he was losing his edge.  It was only yesterday that he was making this woman too nervous to construct full sentences in his presence.  Now she was unabashedly singing and dancing around his kitchen and cheeky enough to smirk at him in the process, daring him to make a comment.

 

In many ways, Charlotte reminded him of _the woman._   She was confident and intelligent and seemed to know what made Sherlock uncomfortable. Unlike _the woman,_ Charlotte appeared completely indifferent towards Sherlock.  Aside from Mary and Mycroft, most of the other people he knew admired him for his keen observational skills and intelligence. When he and John first met, John was thoroughly impressed.  Sherlock fed off the praise John would give after every case they solved. Eventually as they grew to know each other better, John was less complimentary of Sherlock’s deducting skills verbally, but expressed his awe in the blog he had kept when they had worked and lived together.  Charlotte however, seemed unaffected. 

 

“Are you going to stand and stare at me, or are you going to come in?” Charlotte broke his concentration and he looked up with a start.

 

She smiled and threw a towel at him.  “You okay, over there?  You’re thinking awfully hard.”  She turned away and grabbed the half empty bottle of wine.  “Would you like some?  There are a few glasses left.” A hiccough escaped just then sending her into a fit of giggles.

 

“No, thank you.”  He smiled in spite of himself and walked to the stool at the breakfast bar and sat down.

 

“What are you making?”  He tried to peer around her but he could not see anything.

 

“Well, it was going to be an omelet.  And then, I sort of forgot what I was doing, and _THEN_ I found coffee! I love Mrs. Hudson, don’t you? I know she isn’t your housekeeper, but does she always shop for you, or was this just for me? Also, when is she usually up in the morning?  Do you want some wine? Oh, did I already ask you about that? I’ve forgotten.”  Charlotte was speaking quickly and loudly.

 

Sherlock gaped at her with an amused expression and pointed to his own ears indicating for her to remove her ear buds.

 

“Oh! I’m sorry I forgot my music was so loud.  So was that a no to the wine?”

 

“Yes, no to the wine.  Have you had the coffee yet?  Maybe you should sit and start drinking it,” he indicated the empty stool for her to sit in.

 

“No, not yet.  I’m not ready.” She turned back to the stove, her face falling a fraction of an inch.

 

“I didn’t wake you did I?”  The thought had just occurred to Charlotte.  She did not realize he was still fully clothed in the partial suit he had worn that day for she had barely looked at him for long.

 

“No, I was up.  I don’t sleep much. I heard you banging around in here and came to see if someone was trying to murder you, or if you were intentionally trying to get my attention,” Sherlock said bringing his hands to rest under his chin, staring at her with those intense eyes.  This was how he had gotten her to falter yesterday in the bakery. Just focusing all his attention on her and staring in her eyes would be enough to get the power to shift back. He needed it to shift back.

 

She smiled at him, though it never reached her eyes and said, “I’m just an enthusiastic cook.  And I deffffinately wasn’t trying to get your attention,” Charlotte’s speech was starting to slur and she laughed as she heard it.  “I was shocked to see all the food.  I had resigned myself to searching for bland crackers or something until I could do a regular shopping order tomorrow, but when I came in here and saw the fridge I couldn’t help myself; also the wine…that may have made things a bit noisier.  M’sorry for waking you.”

 

“No, I just said I wasn’t,” he gave up speaking when she turned back away from him to the stove.  He needed her to turn and look at him.  She had barely looked at him after he had sat at the breakfast bar.

 

“Charlotte, have you eaten anything yet?” He asked, trying to get her to turn around.

 

“Noooope,” she said as she tripped over her own foot on her way around the breakfast bar.  She went to the refrigerator and grabbed two eggs, paused, then turned to finally look at him.

 

“Do you want an omelet as well?”  Her eyes met his and he could tell she had been crying earlier. When he had first seen her he had attributed the redness around her eyes to the wine, but getting her to look at him properly, he could see pain there.

 

“I don’t,” was his only response still watching her carefully. He could tell she was beginning to feel uncomfortable under his intense gaze.  She quickly dropped her eyes and went back to the stove, cracked the eggs in a bowl, scrambled them and poured them out over the vegetables in the pan and then poured more wine into her glass.  She downed the rest of the glass, took a deep breath and set it on the counter.

 

“Did you take any of the medicine John gave you this afternoon?” He asked her, again trying to get her attention.

 

“Oh, you’re not supposed to know about that because of your problems,” she said turning back to look at him and frowning.

 

“The medicine he gave you would not have any effect on me,” he said impatiently. 

 

Charlotte squinted her eyes at him to assess the validity of the statement.

 

“Uh-huh, well I can’t figure that out right now, but from what I know…oh hang on,” she stopped speaking, closed her eyes and reached out to grab the breakfast bar.

 

“You should probably sit down,” Sherlock said, pulling out his phone to scroll through his messages.

 

“Yup. I should,” she said but opened her eyes and turned back to the stove.

 

“Why do you not respond to the text messages you receive?” He asked her, glancing up to see what she was doing.

 

Charlotte lowered the heat on the stove, flipped the omelet and plopped down on the stool next to Sherlock. 

 

“I respond,” she said simply.

 

The room was spinning slightly.  With the stove going, and all of the wine, she was getting warmer and sleepier.

 

“Why do you send so many?” She rested her head in her hand.

 

He chose not to respond to her and continued looking at his phone.

 

Remembering the omelet she got up, lost her balance and tipped slightly to the side. Sherlock grabbed the top of her arm to help steady her.

 

“Whoops,” she said with another hiccough.  She pulled her arm away from him saying, “I have this,” and walked back to the stove.  He remained perched on the edge of the stool quite sure she did not “have this.”

 

She turned the heat off, reached for a plate on the counter and slid the omelet out of the pan.  Charlotte had forgotten the coffee until she passed the pot and received an intoxicating whiff.  A longing moan escaped her lips as she saw it.  She looked at her hands trying to remember why she could not get the coffee surprised to find one hand holding a plate that was dangerously close to spilling an omelet on the floor and the other holding a fork.

 

Looking up, she was confronted by a human wall. 

 

“No!” She said suddenly.  Charlotte was not expecting to see anyone in front of her and the invasion of personal space frightened her.  She staggered back as hands came towards her. 

 

Sherlock gripped both her upper arms to stop her from falling backwards. Looking at her, he made sure she was steady on her feet before letting go.  She nodded to him and walked back to the breakfast bar. “See, I have it,” she said simply as if it made perfect sense.

 

Sherlock watched her walk back to the stool then swiped the wine bottle from the table and poured the little that remained down the sink drain. He walked back to the cabinet and grabbed two cups and filled them with coffee.  Not bothering with cream or sugar he set one in front of Charlotte.

 

She stared at it as if it was a foreign object and shook her head.

 

“Drink this,” he said pushing it closer still.

 

“No, it’s going to be gross.  I don’t like it black,” she said pushing the cup back. 

 

“Isn’t that funny?  It’s not really black at all; it’s brown.  Why do you suppose people say it’s black when it’s really brown?  Do you know?  It’s like your tea.  There’s green tea, that isn’t really green and white tea that isn’t really white.”  She looked up at him, only to be annoyed at the look he was giving her.  “Do you ever drink coffee or are you too posh?  Is that even a word? Posh. Posh. Posh.  Posh.  It doesn’t sound like a word anymore.  Try it!” She was smiling at him now through the haze of glassy eyes.

 

“Charlotte drink the coffee now,” he said staring at her.

 

“Nope,” she said and went back to eating her omelet in little bites.

 

Charlotte had never been a good eater.  She was always the last of her friends and family to finish a meal. It was not that she did not enjoy food, she just took smaller bites and longer spaces between each.

 

“We’re going to be here all night if you continue eating that slow. Drink the coffee. You drank your tea with no milk or sugar this morning.”  He pushed the cup back to her and said, “you’ve got this,” in a mocking tone, staring at her until she responded.

 

“To be honest, we’re going to be stuck here all night anyway, so what do you care?” She asked looking back at him with defiance.  When he did not respond she said, “You’re a pain in the ass, just so you know.”

 

Grabbing the cup with two hands she slowly lifted it to her nose and breathed in the heavenly bitter scent closing her eyes.

 

“I’ve been called worse, just drink,” he was gentle but insistent this time.

 

Sherlock observed her from across the breakfast bar. 

 

“You haven’t drugged this have you?” She asked lowering it again.

 

“No,” he said chuckling, “you’re going to pass out all on your own tonight.” She gave him a skeptical look, but figured passing out right now was a far better fate than to be stuck with all of the questions and worries on her mind.

 

“Oh eeeeeww!” was her very first reaction after the first sip.

 

“More,” Sherlock said.

 

She shot him a nasty look but took another sip and grimaced putting the cup down.  She picked up the fork and continued to eat the omelet.  Sherlock made his way back to the other side of the breakfast bar and sat next to her holding his cup of coffee with both hands.

 

“When did you learn to cook?” Sherlock asked casually.

 

“Nope. That’s not the right question, Mr. Holmes,” she said in a sing-song voice that did not quite match her expression.

 

“What other things can you make?” He tried again.

 

“Nope,” she said, refusing to look at him.

 

“Charlotte I’m trying to make conversation,” he said.

 

“I thought you said you would be ignoring me.  I’m good with that.”

 

When she would not make eye contact, he sighed and said, “Okay. You win.  There is something I need to talk to you about. But you need to pay attention. Tell me everything you know about Moriarty.”  He was closer than before and looking intently at her.

 

“Okay…” Charlotte had never heard the name before but realized Sherlock was fishing for a reaction. 

 

If she had had any sort of reaction towards the name, he would have a lead, something to go on.  She knew she was right when she looked over at him and saw his eyes light up.

 

“Let me see,” she began, putting her fork down she turned her body so her eyes could look off into the distance,  “ah, yes, I remember now.  It was the summer of ’69, we were standing on my Mama’s porch and I told him that I’d wait forever, and then he held my hand and we knew it was now, or never…those were the best days of my life.”  Charlotte got to the very end before dissolving into a lung crushing laugh fit.

 

Sherlock simply blinked at her with no response. “I don’t understand anything of what you just said.”

 

Still laughing, she reached over his arms for her phone, found what she was looking for and hit play.  She unplugged the ear buds and enjoyed watching his face go from confusion to angry frustration.

 

“I take it then, that you don’t know who he is,” he said defeated.

 

Charlotte pointed to her nose and said, “Ding, ding, ding,” then picked up her fork to continue what now felt like the most enormous omelet.  She looked at her plate surprised to see so much of it still left.

 

“You’ve gained access to all of my personal records by now, so you know who all of my clients are/were and their diagnoses. DiagnOseeees.  That doesn’t sound like a word either. Anyway, you have my files, never mind confiden…confidential,” she stopped speaking having a tough time finding the word.

 

“Confidentiality,” Sherlock supplied for her.

 

“ _That_ is what I said,” she pointed her fork at him, forgetting about the food on the end and flung it onto his robe.

 

“Oops. Sorry about that,” she dropped the fork loudly on the plate to clean his robe with the towel sitting next to her.

Nearly tipping over, she turned and tried to wipe off his robe.

 

“It’s fine, Charlotte.  Drink some more coffee,” he took the towel away from her but her hands remained on his chest. As she felt the smooth fabric under her fingers she leaned closer to him.  He did not move, but was weary of what she was doing.

 

“Wait,” she said, more to herself than to him.  She leaned in close enough to lay her head against his shoulder and breathed in his scent.  He brought his arm up to her back to steady her in case she fell.

“It was you,” she said looking up at him.  “You carried me to the bed last night, right?” She laid her head against the space under his collarbone, feeling a weird sense of comfort in the subtle scent of soap and the soft feel of satin on his robe.

 

He paused for a moment to understand the feeling of having her this close to him before saying, “Yes, Mary didn’t want you sleeping in the chair all night.” Her suspicions were correct. His deep voice made the same soothing rumble under her cheek.

 

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said in a sleepy voice.  It was nice to have the warm feeling of someone this close, but her thoughts were foggy and she could not make much sense of anything. They stayed like that a moment longer, Charlotte, leaning off the stool onto Sherlock, and he with an arm around her for support.   “Sorry,” she said as pushed herself away from him and repositioned herself on the stool.

 

Sherlock’s gaze narrowed and for a brief moment he squinted trying to decide how to proceed.  Based on Charlotte’s height and weight, there was a very good chance she would not remember anything from this evening.  He was almost certain she had taken something before drinking tonight.

 

“Charlotte you didn’t answer my question from earlier, did you take any of the medicine John gave you today?”

 

Charlotte took another sip of bitter coffee and pushed the half eaten omelet away from her.  She dropped her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes.  They were beginning to feel dry and scratchy.  She was so tired, mentally and physically.

 

“Charlotte?” He asked putting his hand on her shoulder lightly.

 

“Hmm?” She was beginning to fall asleep.

 

“Have you taken a sleeping pill already tonight?” He asked her, shaking her shoulder a little.

 

“Charlotte?” He asked again

 

“No, but then they are all mixed up,” she said putting her head back down.

 

“What’s all mixed up, Charlotte?  You put all the medicine in one container?”  He grabbed his phone again and immediately texted John.

What medicines did you give her? SH

 

Within the minute John texted back.

 

There are four muscle relaxers, four sleeping pills,

and four regular aspirins. JW

 

“I took one of the pretty pink aspirins about an hour ago,” she said looking at him.

 

“That wasn’t the aspirin, that was the muscle relaxer,” he said moving closer to her to look directly into her eyes, checking her pupils. 

 

“Well **_that_** , is unfortunate,” she said standing up unsteadily.

 

Instead of stopping her, he watched to see what she was capable of while this intoxicated.  He now felt certain she would remember nothing of tonight.  She remembered nothing of last night, except his scent. But even though that is the strongest sense, it did not help her remember events of the night itself.

 

She took her half eaten omelet and coffee cup to the sink and attempted to place them gently in but misgauged the depth and ended up dropping them a few inches from the bottom creating a loud crashing sound. 

 

“Um…I think something broke in there,” she said and began lifting things to find the broken pieces.

 

“Just leave it for the morning,” Sherlock said.

 

She was definitely not going to argue with him.  She slowly stumbled out of the kitchen with Sherlock following closely behind.

 

She flopped down in the chair she had come to think of as hers, carefully raising her knee onto the arm of the chair.  She took a steadying breath as she watched the fire.

 

Sherlock sat across from her after adding another log to the fire. He had a glass of something with him.

 

“Did you like it here?” She asked Sherlock but remained staring at the fire.

 

“Did I?” he asked.  “Why wouldn’t I still like it here?”

 

“Why do you keep staring at me?  I feel like you’re trying to read my mind.  What are you looking for?”  She finally looked over at him, not at all surprised to see him propped up with his elbows on the arms of the chairs with his hands steepled under his chin.

 

“I’m looking for the real you.  You’re filled with plenty of stories and delicious secrets.  I want to know who you are now and who you used to be. What got you into this field of work?” He asked.

 

“I wanted to make a difference,” she said simply.


	6. Your Labels Are Showing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Charlotte is forced into recounting a painful memory from her past, Sherlock is faced with some of his own memories and feelings that have long been buried.

Sherlock let her stare off into space for a few moments.  As soon as her eyes started closing, he called her attention back.

 

“Charlotte, you have to stay awake,” Sherlock said, louder than was necessary, but he was trying to keep her from sleeping.

 

“Oh can’t you just let me sleep?  I’m fine.  See, I feel fine,” she said with her eyes closed and speaking in a slower meter than she had been earlier. 

 

Sherlock stood up and walked over to the wall.  While studying the images his phone vibrated.

Why did you want to know about the

medication?  Is she okay? JW

 

Sherlock looked back over at her slumped figure on the armchair. Her head was barely propped on the back of the chair, with arms and legs dangling over the sides.

 

She took a muscle relaxer and drank half of a

bottle of wine.  On an empty stomach. SH

 

Keep her awake.  Give her plenty of water.  Continue checking her pulse.

Call me if it becomes too slow. JW

 

“Charlotte, it’s time to get up,” Sherlock went over to her chair and shook her awake.

 

“It’s really not time for that right now.  It’s time for my sleeping.  You can sleep too,” she said sleepily brushing his hands off her shoulders.

 

“Nope. Up you go.”  He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to her feet.

“Here drink this,” he placed the glass of water in her hands and waited for her to respond. 

 

“I am not thirsty,” she said trying to hand it back to him.

 

“I will stick my own fingers down your throat to induce vomiting to clear your system, or you’ll be a big girl and drink this water,” he said, pushing the water back to her.

 

“Ugh, fine.  I’ll drink it but can I sit while I’m drinking it?” She looked longingly and the warm comfy chair she had been rudely uprooted from.

 

“Not that chair,” Sherlock said, looking at the armchair.  He grabbed the wooden chair used by clients and pulled it to the middle of the room, and guided her into it.

 

Satisfied that she was not going to fall off, he went back to his own leather chair and maneuvered it once again to be less than a foot from hers.  Sherlock went back to observing her sort through the inebriated haze that was her mind. She finished her water and was searching for a place to put the glass when she settled on putting it on the table next to her.  The only problem with that plan was that the table she saw was actually three feet away and when she leaned over to put the glass on top, she missed.

 

Sherlock knew what her plan was the moment she looked to the right and was able to catch her before she hit the floor.  The glass shattered on the floor and stared at it over his shoulder.

 

“This is not going to work Charlotte, lets move you to the couch.” He stood up bringing her with him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and relaxed into him, letting him bring her to the couch.

 

When he sat her down, she kept her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down to sit next to her.

 

“You should sit too.  You look ill,” she said trying to focus on his face.  He took her hands from around his neck and brought them down to her lap.

 

“I’m perfectly fine.  I’m not intoxicated,” he propped her up, gave her a pillow and scoot back to put distance between them.  He noted that Charlotte appeared to be an amorous drinker.  He had dealt with these types before, but never with someone who might actually cross the line; never with someone who would cross the line and be waking up in the next room.

 

There were quite a few awkward moments when he and John had had the occasional drink.  John drank far more than Sherlock ever did.  He found that alcohol dampened his ability to control situations and use reason and logic to navigate the confusing world around him.  John was an amorous drinker as well, but always relied on Sherlock’s seemingly asexual nature to keep it within a controlled environment; much like women often drop all inhibitions and share intimate secrets when they believe themselves to be in the presence of a gay man.

 

Sherlock never placed much value on labels.  For the most part, he held himself above the convention of the range of human emotions.  He had no time for useless feelings like love, fear, sadness, or guilt.  That did not mean he never felt them. He felt them all of the time, he just never indulged in them.  He allowed people to believe he had no time or interest in relationships. It was far easier to live this way. No one bothered crossing that line with him.  People found it easier to just believe him to be a robot.  It complicated things less when he could be removed from the equation or discounted.  John had always discounted him there.  Sherlock knew John was not gay.  Sherlock, if he were to use archaic labels, was not gay either, at least not in the traditional sense.  On some level they both realized there was a deep affection for one another there. It never was acted on and somehow they both realized everything would break if it were. 

 

Trying to hide his drug addiction from his family when he was in boarding school took a bit of comprising.  Sherlock learned to disassociate himself when working to get something he wanted or needed.  Being at an all male boarding school meant exchanging services for goods.  When he had gotten older, he began to use his detective skills as currency instead.  While he had taken part in many sexual acts, he was still in fact a virgin in the traditional sense. 

 

He had experienced enough in life to realize sex was currency. He had seen it hundreds of times with his clients and of course he watched Mary use it repeatedly to get what she wanted from John.  He looked upon the act of sex as something far removed from the emotion of love. That made it easier to cut himself off from it. 

 

Just as his thoughts turned to _the woman_ and Janine, he was struck with a pillow.

 

_______________________________

 

Startled out of his reverie, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust and for his brain to catch up with the scene in front of him.  Charlotte was white as a sheet and her face was contorted in…pain? Rage?  Was she waving something at him?  All of the sounds of room came crashing back to him at once.  Charlotte was screaming at him.

 

“WHAT IS THIS? WHERE DID YOU GET THIS?”  She was on her knees on the couch leaning unsteadily towards him waving a picture in front of him.  Sherlock noted that her rage was at such a level, she was not aware of the pain in her knee, though she kept shifting her weight off of it.

 

“Sherlock, ANSWER ME NOW! Where did you get this?  Why do you have it?”  She was moving closer to him with each question.  Her shouts were decreasing so that by the time her legs were touching his she was exhausted and her anger had partially deflated.

 

He sat looking at her knees touching him until she grabbed his shirt and shook him.

 

“Look at me! Why...why do have this? I don’t…I don’t understand,” she had tears built up and were threatening to fall.  He took her hands off his shirt and held onto them for a moment before speaking.

 

“Charlotte, I have to ask you about your last case.  How much do you remember from the night Brooks Jameson died?” He watched as every muscle in her face fell.  He was still holding her wrists in both of his hands and felt her letting go and collapse in on herself.

 

 

“I believe him to be extremely important in this investigation,” Sherlock was watching carefully to see how far he could push her.  He had not released her hands yet because she would fall on him if he had.  He had to wait for her to come back to her senses and regain control of her muscles to right herself, before he let go.

With a deep sigh, she nodded her head and pulled her hands away from him. She put them on the cushion and pushed herself away from him.  “What would you like to know about Brooks?”

“What services did you provide?  Why did you stop working with him?”  He was speaking slowly and softly watching her intensely. 

She took another deep breath and turned to face Sherlock with her eyes still closed.  “Those are the wrong questions, Mr. Holmes,” she said, slowly opening her eyes and looking wearier than she had before.  “You already have that information,” she said, each word costing her more energy.

___________________________________ ~~~~

“Brooks,” she began with a long sigh, “was a very troubled young man. He came to me when he was in elementary school.  His biological father was abusive, his birth mother had died when he was four.  Child Protection Services removed him from the home, only to place him in another abusive home.  When he was finally in a safe healthy home environment, the damage had already been done,” she stopped talking then.   Rubbing her eyes again.

“He was cutting, using drugs and other substances.  He was prone to violent outbursts if he stopped taking his medicine.  By this time he was in middle school.  His foster parents were increasingly concerned.  I made more frequent trips to their home to work with them and with Brooks. He seemed to be making progress for a while.  He was getting more interested in the world around him.  He began developing healthy relationships with people.” Charlotte stopped to catch her breath and clear her foggy head. 

 

Worried she had lost her train of thought Sherlock prompted her to continue. “What happened, Charlotte?”

“When Brooks got to high school he met a girl named Penny.  She was a strong and smart young girl and she loved Brooks.  In our sessions with his foster parents, he would talk about her often.  I even got to meet her once.  He was so proud to show her off.  I think he really believed having her in his life was the beginning of letting go of the past.

 

A few months later, Brooks’ father was released from prison and made contact with my office to set up a chaperoned meeting with Brooks.  A few weeks later, it was all set up and Brooks reunited with his father in person, under the supervision of law enforcement of course.

The meeting went well.  Brooks confronted his father about the damage he had inflicted on him and received the apology he had been seeking.  They planned to meet again a month later.  During that time, I met with Brooks twice about what he wanted to discuss with his father and the best approach for that. It always helped Brooks to script social situations so he felt comfortable finding the right words to use.”

 

Charlotte stopped speaking and looked over at Sherlock.  He was sitting with his hands steepled under his chin staring at the fire.  At her pause, he returned the gaze.  He realized this was becoming increasingly difficult for her.  ~~“~~ And?” He prompted her forward needing to hear the rest of it.

 

“The night before the second meeting I got a phone call from Brooks’ foster mother. Brooks had skipped his medicine and was in full meltdown mode. It had happened before, so I didn’t think much of it.  I called… a friend… at the local police department and we went over together. When Brooks was in elementary school, I could physically restrain him myself, but now he was almost as tall as you are.”  Charlotte was looking at Sherlock.  He seemed to consider the logistics of this and nodded his head.

 

“When we got there…” she stopped talking and looked at her hands distractedly.

“Charlotte?” Sherlock asked softly.

 

“Are you absolutely sure you need to know this?  How is it going to help you figure out who is after Mary?” She looked over at him with a pleading look.

 

“Mary?” Sherlock asked trying to mask the surprise in his tone. “Uh, yes.  I do need this information.  It will help me narrow the field down more. If I can find the missing link, I can solve this.”  He leaned closer and pointedly looked at her.

Taking a deep breath she continued in a strained voice. “When we got there, Brooks was already dead.  He had taken his own life.  Penny, it turns out, had been diagnosed with an aggressive brain cancer and was admitted to the hospital the day before after collapsing in school.”  She stopped speaking and looked back at the fire.

 

When Sherlock looked up he saw that her face was tear stained. She closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest letting more tears fall.

“No, Charlotte.  That isn’t the whole story is it?” He had to keep pressing.  He had to get her to tell the whole story.

 

“Yes it is!” she yelled at him.

 

“It’s not.  What happened when you got to his house?  What did you see?” Sherlock was barely breathing or blinking, willing her to continue speaking. He closed the distance she had put between them earlier.

 

“What difference does this make?  It’s done.  It’s all done,” she was still yelling, but with less conviction now.

 

Sherlock remained silent, but he softened his expression to try to encourage her to keep going.

 

“When we got there, his foster mother was sitting on the porch holding her arm. She was crying. She had been stabbed during his meltdown.  She saw me coming and staggered forward falling on the grass dragging me with her.” Charlotte looked down at her own hands as if she was experiencing it all over again.

 

“She kept saying ‘dead’.  Dead, dead, dead…” Charlotte began speaking more softly with each repetition of the word until she was whispering.

 

She paused again and this time Sherlock stepped out of his comfort zone to actually make physical contact with her.  He had barely touched her hand when she jerked it away from him yelling, “Don’t!” He pulled his hands back to himself but he did not move back away from her.

“The officer I was with called for back up and an ambulance as well as the coroners van. I went in to the house first.  He didn’t see me.  He was with Nancy.  Everything was still.  Everything was quiet. There was blood in the living room and I remember thinking that must have been where Nancy’s arm got hit. I slowly walked to the kitchen.” She stopped speaking shaking her head back and forth.  She was still seeing the scene play out before her eyes.

When he leaned closer he startled her.  She looked at him as if she was noticing for the first time that he was in the room.  He tried again, took her hands in his and asked, “what did you see Charlotte? What was there?”

 

She stared at his hands, but made no move to remove her own. “She said they were dead.” She stared back at Sherlock horrified at the discovery.  “She said ‘they’, didn’t she? She did. Oh God, she did.” Charlotte was fully crying now. She was horrified to have forgotten that and realized with a deadening pang that was not the only thing she had forgotten about that night.

 

“I can’t, Sherlock I can’t.  Please. Please don’t make me.” She removed her hands from under his only to grab the front of his shirt again.  Full eye contact now, though she really was not seeing Sherlock. She was still watching the ghosts of the past telling their story.

 

“Charlotte, what did you see,” he pressed, taking her hands again and taking her pulse at the same time.  Her legs were touching his once more, a move that did not go unnoticed.

“I’ll fall apart,” she said to him in warning.  “This is all that messy stuff you avoid.  You will be uncomfortable.”  He just simply looked back at her holding her hands. He then put his hands on either side of her face, covering her ears.

 

“Charlotte, close your eyes.  Trust me. You’re safe here with me. Close your eyes,” he said. He waited for her to give in and close her eyes.  “What happened next?” He asked her.

“In the kitchen, they had a round table.  Brooks’ foster sister was there.  She was sitting in her chair with her head on her arms as if she had fallen asleep studying.  She could have been sleeping…her dress…I remember checking her pulse and I couldn’t find it.  I couldn’t find it. And then I couldn’t find the father but he was away on a business a lot.  I went upstairs to Brooks’ room.  He was lying on the floor in his room.  Music was on in the background.  It was on a constant loop.  I couldn’t find the source.  It was so difficult to focus.”  She stopped speaking, listening instead to the music from her long forgotten memory. 

 

Through tears she whispered the lyrics, “ _Holy girl.  Don’t get up. For running.  Stay with me.  I feel sad.  When you run.”_

 

Sherlock tightened his grip on her head slightly to help her refocus. She took a shuddering breath and continued with her story.

 

“I walked in and kneeled next to him.  There was blood surrounding him.  I reached out to his face to smooth back the hair there.” She stopped talking for a moment and tried to move her head.  Sherlock was still holding her in place, blocking out the sounds around her.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”  She was not apologizing to Sherlock she was reliving that moment and apologizing to a ghost.

 

“What happened Charlotte, after that?” He needed to keep pressing her until the tragic story was finally complete.

“He…he wasn’t dead yet.  I heard him gasp. I heard him.   And I dropped down closer to him, telling him help was on the way.  He showed me his wrists and said it was too late for him.  I was too late.  I grabbed his wrist to stop the bleeding.  He said next time he would do better.  He said he didn’t want Abby to die.  I held his hand as he kept chanting, next time I’ll be better over and over until he died.”  Sherlock let go of Charlotte’s face and pulled her to him.  She felt like dead weight against his chest.  He could feel the familiar panic rising in his chest when confronted by raw emotion. He wanted to get up and out.

He wanted to get away from the emotion that was pulling her down.  He lived by that instinct.  It drove him to greatness. 

 

Somehow, in this moment he knew it was the wrong instinct.  He went for the instinct that was completely opposite. He held on tightly as she cried herself out.

“It was not your fault, Charlotte,” he said, smoothing the hair back away from her tear stained face.

 

“I know that,” she said into his shoulder.  She took a deep breath and tried to get control of herself. She pushed away from him and touched the tear stains on his robe.  “Thanks,” she said and moved back to the corner of the couch. She felt instantly small and cold.

“What became of his father?”  Sherlock followed her lead and sat back away from her.  This was unfamiliar territory to him and he was not entirely sure the distance was a good thing at this moment.  He was suddenly very aware of his arms and how useless they felt at that moment.  He looked down at them instead of at her.

 

“The last I heard, he broke parole, and hanged himself in his jail cell.”   She took a deep breath, pushed her hair back away from her face, wiped away the tears and made the move to stand.  Sherlock watched her move, but did nothing to stop her.

 

“Look, can we be done now?  I can’t handle any more of this.”  Her legs were stiff and achy and she was still intoxicated.  Losing her balance she stumbled to the wall and stopped, holding onto it for support. 

 

She felt Sherlock’s hands on her arms and tried to push him away saying she was fine and could manage.  She was no match for him.  She was too tired to fight him.  He lifted her easily making sure she was secure and began walking back to John’s old room. Charlotte’s room, now. And as he had done the night before he carefully navigated the dark hall.  There were maybe thirty steps separating the living room and her room, but in that time she had fallen asleep.

 

The room was freezing cold and slightly damp. She wrapped her arms tighter around him and buried her face in the space between his neck and collarbone. Sherlock was still not entirely comfortable with this close contact. She had done the same thing the night before and it had made him stop in his tracks.  Aside from Sophie, he had never carried anyone like this, or had someone so close.

 

He carefully laid her on the bed and walked to the window to close and lock it and drew the shades.  He took a moment to look at her phone.  There were no new messages and he felt troubled and relieved simultaneously. He turned to leave the room looking once more in her direction only to be surprised that she was watching him.

 

“Can you do something for me?” She asked in a quiet, shy voice.

“Yes,” he said, surprising himself in that moment.

 

“Could you…could you just stay here until I fall asleep? Please? I’m feeling really exposed and scared and I know this is probably a nightmare for you, but I just really don’t want to be alone right now.  Can you stay?  Just for a little while?”

 

He had started walking towards her before she had finished, but she was barely focusing and would not notice the movement.  He considered his reaction to her request on his way over to the bed.  He felt like he too was exposed.  Logic and reason did not quite fit here in this room at the moment.

 

He sat next to her on the bed trying not to disturb the mattress. She was turned to face the other way and he had no idea if she was paying attention or if she had fallen back to sleep yet.

 

Sherlock crossed his long legs and stared off into space listening to her breathing.  It would not take long for her to fall asleep again.  As her breathing began to slow and then deepen, Sherlock began to feel more relaxed as well.  He was able to concentrate on all that had passed over the last couple of hours.

 

Knowing Charlotte was in a deep sleep, he figured it would not hurt to close his eyes for a while.  It had been a long time since he had slept through the night. Listening to her breathing was like a form of hypnosis. 

 

Almost immediately after closing his eyes he decided it was probably not a good idea; it would not do to fall asleep here.  Internally fighting with himself, he decided that now was not the time to rest.  He would get up and return to the wall.  He had to find the pattern.  Before he had the chance to move, Charlotte turned towards Sherlock.  Afraid that she was waking up he froze. When her breathing regained its deepened state he turned his head slightly to look at her. Her brow was furrowed like she was trying to work out a puzzle.  He continued to watch her, slowly letting himself relax again.  Before long, sleep found him.


	7. Blood Spatter

What felt like five minutes later, Sherlock woke up alone on Charlotte’s bed. He was instantly filled with an unfamiliar panic.  It was not the panic of having feelings, or being too close to someone who was displaying feelings.  He was afraid. He was afraid that he had been reckless enough to fall asleep here in the first place.  And then he was afraid of the feeling of waking up alone. He looked immediately at his phone to see what time it was and found a message that had come in around 3 am from a blocked number.

**Look how easy it is for me to find her.**

**You can’t keep her safe.**

**You will lose.**

 

“Charlotte?” He called out.  He heard rummaging coming from the other room followed immediately by the sound of running. He was off the bed and at the doorway as Charlotte came crashing into him.

 

“What happened? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He asked grabbing her arms to steady the both of them.  He proceeded to lift her chin and turn her head from side to side to see if she was hurt in any way.

 

“What? I don’t know.  Something you said…and then I remembered something. Come here,” she said as she took his hand and dragged him back to the living room towards the wall.

 

“The story I told you.  Something isn’t right,” she said staring at him, waiting for him to see it too.

 

“What isn’t right about it? You told me what you said you remembered,” he said, looking down at their joined hands with wonder.

 

“Look at that picture,” she said pointing at the wall with wild eyes.

 

“Charlotte, I see it, but what are you remembering?” He looked down at her, willing her to remember more of the story.  He knew there had been gaps in the story and that one of them was a major clue to figuring out who was leaving the messages. 

 

Of course Mycroft had been able to acquire all of the files that were never publicly released and also the details that Charlotte was not privy to. He could not be the one to tell her anything for fear of planting a suggestion or false memory. It all had to come back to her on her own time.  Sherlock was frustrated that she could not remember anything else.

 

“The blood,” she said staring at the picture of Brooks that had started this whole thing tonight. 

 

It was one of the crime scene photos.  Brooks was lying on his stomach, arms stretched out to his sides. His left arm was farther stretched out because that was the one Charlotte remembered holding. She had never been allowed access to any of the files after that tragedy.  She also had no memory of the rest of the night after she had found Brooks. She had woken in the hospital a couple of days later.  Minor injuries were sustained that evening, but she was there more for a mental evaluation.

 

“The blood?” He asked her.  Charlotte, letting go of his hand somewhat reluctantly, climbed unsteadily onto the couch cushions to stand closer.

 

He stood directly behind her incase she fell. “You mean the splatter patterns?”

 

She turned to look at him with renewed tears, but understood he was using the correct terminology for things, no matter how difficult it was to look at for Charlotte, to Sherlock everything was black and white.  She simply nodded at him and then returned to look back at the wall.

 

“Can you give me answers?  About the case I mean.  You know everything that happened, right? Are you allowed to tell me, or would that be like planting a false memory?”  Charlotte turned again still on the couch facing him. Her eyes were still glassy and she swayed a little on the spot.

 

“I don’t know.  It depends on the questions and it depends on what you already know,” he said, looking warily at her aware there could be things he was not able to tell her yet.

 

“I have already told you,” she said turning back to look at the wall.

 

“Not everything, Charlotte.  What else do you remember about that night?”  Sherlock asked her.  He remained standing behind her for the time being.  He would much rather have her sitting for this incase she did actually fall. 

 

“I told you everything I remember.  I don’t know what I can’t remember,” she said looking back at him. She bit her lip debating on giving something up.

 

“Tell me, Charlotte,” he said more gently.  “Okay, here’s what I know and what I want to know still,” Charlotte said, deciding to put it all out there.

 

“Tell me why there is a pool of blood around a young man’s abdomen, if he cut his own wrists?  The cuts on his wrist were horizontal.  Brooks, well, he would have known what he was doing, wouldn’t he?  He would have simply followed the vertical scars from his previous attempt, right?   Unless, it was a diversion for someone else.  If he did it but knew it wouldn’t kill him and that help would reach him before he bled out, but made it look like he would die.”

 

Sherlock began pacing the floor for something to do.  He knew all of this already; he was waiting for her to put it together.  She was the one who had to do it alone.

 

“Sherlock, I don’t know why I can’t remember everything from that night, especially after finding Brooks, including how I got this?”  She raised the bottom of her shirt to reveal a long thin slightly raised pink scar running from the bottom of her ribcage up to a point that was still covered by her shirt.

 

Without realizing his actions, he stopped walking and looked at the scar. They were so very close now to getting to the clue.  He could feel it.  She was not there yet. Looking up at her for permission, Sherlock reached out a finger to trace the long scar that was displayed. “How far up does it go?” He asked her with a hesitant voice somewhat uncomfortable, eyes still transfixed to her skin.

 

She took his hand and guided it up a little farther to the end of the scar. In all, the scar was about seven inches in length and indicative of a very shallow injury.  Something meant to slow her down, or immediately remove her, but not to kill her.  Her skin felt cold to the touch and had goose bumps.

 

“You’re cold, come down here,” he took her hands and guided her down to stand on the floor.

“It’s not that. My hands are usually cold…I just,” she couldn’t finish her statement and was looking at her own scared little hands in his big ones.

 

“Charlotte, what is it?” He asked her squeezing her hands tighter hoping it would help her focus.

 

“I’ve gotten a new text, Sherlock,” she said again on the verge of tears. “It isn’t Mary or Sophie at all that’s in danger, is it?  It’s me, right?  I’m the target,” she said moving closer and handing him her phone.

 

**Look how easy it is for me to find you.**

**Sleep well tonight love, the game starts soon.**

**You’ll need your rest.**

 

She brushed past Sherlock to stand in the center of the room. His blood ran cold when he read the message knowing it had come in immediately before he had received his. Why had he not heard either of their phones?

 

“I can’t be here,” she announced as she went back to her room. She felt dirty. Contaminated. Scared.

 

Getting to her bed, she sat down to catch her breath.  She pulled her legs up and hugged them to her, putting her head on her knees to think.  Tears were threatening again but she was getting the idea she had already made an ass of herself already tonight, she should try to keep it together now. She could still feel the lingering effects of the alcohol and accidental muscle relaxer but her mind was more alert.  Her mind was trying to race through theories and ideas but felt as if her ideas and thoughts were trapped in mud and kept struggling to move forward and make breakthroughs. Her body seemed to weigh a hundred pounds more and her fine motor skills did not exist.

 

Sherlock slowly walked into the room and stood in front of her. While her face was tucked away he took the moment to rearrange his features.

“You know I can’t let you leave,” he said to her in a softer voice. He walked closer and sat on the side of the bed he had woken on.  Charlotte lay down and faced him.

“But I’m causing more danger to everyone around me.  I don’t even understand any of this. Why would I be a target?” She looked up at him with sad fearful eyes not really expecting an answer.

 

“You are very important to this puzzle, Charlotte; more important than you can know right now. But, we will find him and stop him,” Sherlock said sitting back against the headboard of the bed.

 

“I’m sorry I can’t remember anything else.  But, if I was being targeted back then, why would Mary have hired me?”  She asked suddenly.

 

“This is not the time to tell you that story,” Sherlock said looking down at her, bringing his hands to rest under his chin.  “You still need me to be here, right?”

 

“Yes, if you don’t mind.  I’m sorry,” she said her eyes had already closed.  This time she fell asleep to Sherlock’s measured breathing and the sound of texting various people.

 

In the ten minutes it took for Charlotte to fall asleep this time, Sherlock had texted Mycroft, Mary and John.  They would meet tomorrow about the new text alerts to see if there was any more indication on where they were coming from and also to sweep the flat for bugs.  When she was safely asleep again, he too relaxed and nodded off for a while.  There was something far more comforting about sleep when you where listening to someone else breathing.  He also felt better knowing if they were in the same place together, she would not be taken in the middle of the night.


	8. Morning After

Charlotte woke very late the next day to a hot dry mouth, and a pounding headache, which was only compounded by the God awful screeching that was coming from the living room.  She got out of bed and made her way to the bathroom.  Turned on the fan, to drown out the sound and started the shower. The hot water felt amazing after last night’s events. 

 

This time she remembered a good deal of what happened including why Sherlock was in her bed when something had awoken her during the night. At some point during the evening the two had rolled closer to each other towards the center of the bed. They were facing each other and very close together but only their hands touched. 

 

When she opened her eyes to see him there so close, she decided to stay absolutely still and really look at him.  He looked exhausted and it was not simply from the events of the night, he had this overly exhausted look about him as if he not slept in days. She very gently traced the purple bruise-like circles of exhaustion under his eyes.  When he did not wake, she put her hand inside his to see what he would do.  He had sighed then and held onto her hand.  She was so tired she had fallen back to sleep holding hands with Sherlock Holmes.

 

She knew already he would be a beast about it, so she decided to pretend it had never happened.  She smiled now realizing the screeching sound was the violin.  John had told her before she left that he would use his violin as a method for working out his problems.

 

The scent of her body wash brought her back to the present moment. Lavender and Chamomile was usually what she used at night before going to sleep, but these last two days she had had to shower in the morning.  Using her own shampoo and conditioner calmed her farther and helped her feel more like her self.  Afterwards she went to brush her teeth.  Her appearance was horrendous.  Her face was splotchy and swollen.  Her eyes had dark circles under them and were puffy from the wine and crying. The accidental muscle relaxer probably did not help.

 

She took her time applying her morning skin creams; moisturizer was essential. She followed that by drying her long hair half -heartedly.  When it reached the appropriate dampness to work with she turned off the blow dryer, wrapped her hair in a large bun and pinned it.  She left the bathroom in her own bathrobe to see about making some coffee.

 

In the kitchen she saw that a pot of coffee had already been made. Grabbing one of the larger cups than last night she filled it to the brim and added a nice creamer to it to take the bitter edge off of it.  Leaning against the counter she closed her eyes, took a deep breath in, held it and then released it.  Keeping her eyes closed for the first sip in the morning made the coffee even better. She brought the cup to her lips once more only letting the liquid far enough to wet her lips, all the while breathing it in and slowly exhaling it out. Licking her lips to get the hint of what was to come was foreplay for what would be the best experience. Lowering the cup a little to breathe fresh air in, and slowly raising it for the very first sip, Charlotte sighed with pleasure as the warm liquid filled her mouth and traveled down her throat stimulating nerves and filling her with warmth.

 

The first sip in the morning was Charlotte’s religion.  She sat at the breakfast counter for a moment to enjoy the rest of the cup, before helping herself to another and going back to getting ready for the day.  Since she mixed up the pills John gave her she would have to check with Sherlock which ones were in fact the aspirin. 

 

Somewhere between the first sip and her second cup of coffee, the violin stopped playing.  Peace at last. Sherlock stormed into the kitchen but seemed to immediately deflate when Charlotte looked over to him.

 

“Can I get you some coffee or tea?” She asked trying to smooth the tension that was beginning to build.

 

“Coffee will be fine,” he said and as an afterthought, “black.” He kept scrutinizing her reactions to him being there to ascertain what she remembered from the night before.

 

She filled the cup for Sherlock and refilled her own.  Setting both down on the breakfast bar, she sat down on the chair and stared into her coffee holding the cup with two hands, breathing in the soothing scent and willing her headache to go away.

 

“Oh, Sherlock I need you to help me with something,” she said remembering the pills.

He remained silent but raised an eyebrow at her.

 

“At some point, I must have mixed up the medicine John gave me and I am in desperate need of an aspirin.  Can you help me with that?”  She finally looked at him with an open and innocent face.

 

“Do you remember which one it is?  You took one last night didn’t you?”  He said, staring down at her.

 

She grinned at him, realizing he was testing her memory skills. She debated on lying and then realized it would be a waste of time because he would end up figuring it out anyway.

 

“Well, let’s see.  I think I can say with absolute sureness that the pink ones are NOT aspirin.  What did you call them last night?  Muscle Relaxers?”  She smiled in return of his calculating look.

 

“I can help with that, I believe.  How do you feel this morning?” He asked wearily.

 

“Aside from a pretty bad headache and general achy-ness, I’m really fine. I know you mean mentally though too don’t you?  Yeah, it was really difficult remembering those things last night.  Brooks was special to me and that was a really awful time. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you were, I am sorry to have broken down so terribly.  Not to mention me being so needy.  I’m not usually like that, but I’m getting scared and the alcohol really did not help me.  But I really appreciated your patience with me. I’m going to get dressed now,” she said and walked away before he could respond.  She left him in the kitchen with his mouth slightly open watching after her trying to figure out how she could have remembered it all and why she did not make a fuss at him sleeping next to her the whole night.

 

He knew she had woken up and seen he was still there.  He felt her trace the dark circles under his eyes and eventually settle her small hand in his.  She made no comment though about any of it.  It was still important for him to get her to trust him enough to break down that final wall in her memory and tell him everything about that night.  He was certain that night connects to the person texting them now.

 

 

She closed the door to her room and began rummaging through her luggage to find some leggings and a long knit shirt.  As she untied the belt of her robe and let it fall a fraction of an inch, the door flew open and Sherlock burst in.

 

“We’re going out, now be ready in five minutes.” He barely looked at her before turning to leave again, door still opened.

“Some privacy would be REALLY awesome, Sherlock!” Charlotte yelled out into the hall before slamming the door closed and immediately grabbed her head to make the vibrations stop and mentally cursed herself.

 

Thirty minutes later, she emerged from her room dressed in black leggings, a long white button down cotton shirt with a camel colored cardigan and black ballet flats.  As she walked into the living room she was draping a grey scarf around her neck. Her hair was down loose with soft waves created from the bun earlier when her hair had been damp.

 

Sherlock was squatting on his leather chair, clearly agitated that she had taken so long.

 

“John never took so long to get ready,” he grumbled under his breath.

 

“John, in case you didn’t notice, is not a woman,” she curtly retorted.

 

He struggled with an emotion clearly foreign to him as he said, “I’m sorry for walking in on you earlier.”

 

“Awww, you’re so cute when you’re trying to cope with your feelings,” she said as she ruffled his head like a four year old.

 

When she left the room he immediately pulled out his mobile phone.

 

She is impossible. -SH

 

Be nice. -JW

 

She just rumpled my hair like a dog. -SH

She takes forever and there is stuff all over the place. -SH

 

Sherlock, be nice.  You’re doing this for Sophie. -MW

 

 

Grabbing his coat he stormed out of the flat leaving Charlotte silently laughing in the kitchen. 

 

In the cab, Charlotte’s mobile rang with John’s number. Sherlock grabbed it from her immediately saying, “John-” but he was interrupted by the sound of squealing laughter.

 

Charlotte took the phone back and clicked the facetime icon to see Sophie’s face laughing with delight.  “Uncle Sherly! Sherly!  You have Charlotte. You have my Nanny Charlotte. She is Sherly’s Nanny now Daddy look!” Sophie was walking with the phone, which was now not focused on anything except the wall or her jumper.

 

“Hi Sophie! How’s my girl today?” Charlotte missed her already.

 

“Nanny Char.  My girl is good. How is your girl? Mummy said you live with Sherly now and are solving the case. Where is Sherly?” Sophie sat down and was looking desperately at the image of Charlotte trying to find Sherlock.

 

“I’m here, Sophie.  I’m right here.”  Sherlock peeked into the frame to half smile at the little girl and sent her into another fit of giggles.  He was still clearly irritated with Charlotte about earlier.

 

“Did you play your violin today, Sophie?” Charlotte asked her, trying to get her to focus.

 

“The violin is my favorite instrument.  Sherly plays the violin.  He loves the violin too.  Did he play today Nanny? Did he play? Nanny.  Sherly plays in the morning. How is your girl?” Sophie waited eagerly for the scoop.

 

“I am doing really well, Sophie but I miss you.  Yes, Uncle Sherly he did play his violin today. But you are much better.” Off to the side Sherlock scoffed at that assessment, only to exaggerate the look when Sophie agreed by saying, “I know.”

 

She was getting bored now but someone was calling to her from the other room. “Daddy says ‘no Sherlock. Nooooo. And Mummy says we are to be nice to our friends.  Bye Nanny!”

 

Sophie disconnected the call leaving Charlotte missing her more. She leaned her head back and looked out the window.

 

“What did she mean about John saying no and be nice?”  Charlotte looked over at Sherlock only to see him pouting.  “Nothing,” he mumbled.  She bit back a laugh and turned back to her own window.

 

“I am an excellent musician,” he said under his breath looking out his side of the car.

 

“Mmm, I do not doubt that.  But you, like Sophie over extend your ring finger in second position on the E string causing the most piercing sharp-” Sherlock stopped her midsentence by arguing with her.

 

“If it was correct, then why did you keep repeating it as if something just wasn’t quite right? Fix your finger position and the problem is solved,” she said simply.

 

Sherlock snorted at her, but turned his face to consider what she was saying.

 

“Sherlock, where are we going?”  She asked him without looking this time.

 

“ _You_ are going to St. Bart's,” he said pointedly.

 

“What for?”  Charlotte was now looking at him. 

 

Sherlock slowly turned to look at her and gave what he probably thought was a smile in return.  “I have things to do and I cannot have you tagging along. And I can’t leave you at the flat either,” he stuck in before she could get the chance to speak. “Mrs. Hudson is on holiday.”

 

When they got to St. Bart’s, Sherlock led her down several corridors before sweeping into a lab.  Charlotte followed cautiously.  She had always hated the smell of hospitals.  The chemicals used to sterilize everything burned her eyes and seemed to rest at the back of her throat.

 

There was a woman at the far end of the room in a lab coat who seemed hyper alert with Sherlock in the room.  Charlotte immediately knew who this woman was.  She had heard stories from Mary and John about her.

 

“Molly Hooper, this is Charlotte Hastings from America who is currently living in my flat.  She needs to spend the day here.  Please keep her locked in a room somewhere and don’t let her touch anything.” Sherlock swept from the room at that point leaving the women looking confused and outraged respectively. 

 

Charlotte made a very rude hand gesture to his retreating figure, which earned her a chuckle from Molly.  “Hi Molly, I’ve heard so much about you.  Sophie thinks you are brilliant.”  Charlotte extended her hand but pulled back when she saw Molly’s hands wore white gloves that looked to be covered in red goo. “I can see why now, you get to dissect stuff all day, don’t you?”

 

“Charlotte,” she said by way of greeting.  Molly was sizing her up and unknowingly looked back at the door Sherlock just flew out of.  “Why are you living with Sherlock now, are you two together?  Didn’t you _just_ come to London a few weeks ago?” She looked back to her work for a breath and added, “You know he will never be what you want him to be,” in a tone suggesting experience.  Molly looked at Charlotte without blinking.

 

“Molly, I don’t want him to be anything.  I’m stuck with him at the moment.  Some case that John and Mary assume I’m the target of. I’m just the Watson’s nanny. I take care of Sophie. Isn’t she a doll?”

 

Molly’s shoulders seemed to relax with every word Charlotte was saying. “Sophie is wonderful,” she agreed.

 

“Do we have to stay here?  Are you stuck here for the day?”  Charlotte asked looking around.

 

“I’m a pathologist,” she said looking back at Charlotte, “I can pretty much come and go as I please.”

 

“Fabulous! Clean up! I’m taking you to lunch.”

 

“I’m pretty sure Sherlock wanted you to stay here for the day,” Molly said uneasily, looking back at the door.

 

“I’m also pretty sure that if I don’t have proper girl time, you’ll find him murdered in his apartment by my hands.  Just saying.  Come on. You make your own hours! He won’t even be back until later. Pleeease?”

 

Molly caved.  The women left the hospital from a side door, incase Sherlock was still lurking around and headed for a café up the street.


	9. A New Ally

“I met Sherlock about ten years ago.  One day he swept into my lab, began ordering me about and I just melted.”  Molly was looking down at her half eaten sandwich wistfully.

 

Fortunately that gave Charlotte enough time to rearrange the look on her face from a disbelieving grimace to one of polite sympathy.

 

“He never fancied me though.  I would always look into everything he did and believe there was a hidden meaning. I had convinced myself, he just needed to be loved by the right woman.  He wasn’t damaged, he just had not found someone who understood him, as I did.”  She looked up at Charlotte.

 

Charlotte took her hand, “Honey, we have all been there.  And guys in America are no different.” Charlotte raised her glass to clink with Molly.  Draining her glass she signaled the waiter to bring more mimosas. 

 

“Oh, Charlotte, no I really shouldn’t have anymore.  I am still supposed to be working.” Molly’s cheeks were already getting rosy.

 

“Don’t worry, we’re going shopping after this and by the time we’re done, you will be perfectly fine!” Charlotte sipped the bubbly drink, which turned out to be more orange juice than champagne.  Thus far, Charlotte was not very impressed with the food or beverages here. Everything was bland.

 

“Now, Molly, you are married though, right?”  Charlotte indicated the rings on Molly’s finger.

 

“Yes, yes and he is lovely.  Tom and I were engaged for a while, during Sherlock’s “death” but then he left me when Sherlock returned because he felt I was not committed to our relationship.” Molly looked down affectionately at her rings.  “We reconnected at a party a couple of years later and it worked.  I suppose I had finally let go of Sherlock.”

 

“Tom sounds like a real great guy.  Do you have children?” Charlotte asked, knowing the answer already.

 

“No, we aren’t, we aren’t able to right now.  But we were talking about adoption,” she said looking hopeful.

 

“What an amazing gift for the child who gets chosen by you two.” Charlotte fingered the necklace around her throat and repositioned the clasp, making a wish as she did so.

 

“What a beautiful pendant,” Molly said.  “Was it a gift from someone special?”  Molly was fishing for the scoop on Charlotte’s love life. She might be married to Tom, but her heart remained partially divided.

 

“Yes, my mother gave it to me before she passed away,” Charlotte said, signaling to the waiter to bring their check.

 

After their extended lunch, Charlotte and Molly headed for the shops. Charlotte needed to get things for Sophie’s upcoming birthday party, princess themed, of course, and she also needed to get some spring/summer clothes.  She had only packed fall/winter things when she moved to London, not wanting to bring everything with her from America and pay an outrageous baggage fee.  When she got to London, she realized all the clothes that were left behind would have stood out horribly here anyway, so she would eventually still need to buy new clothes.

 

Charlotte helped Molly pick out some more flattering pieces for her wardrobe including some risqué pieces to pique Tom’s interest in the evening.   As Molly was trying things on, Charlotte took the opportunity alone to check her phone. There were several messages. Sighing, she scrolled through them.

 

Where are you? –SH

You were supposed to stay in the lab. –SH

Are you at least still with Molly? - SH

Why aren’t you responding again? –SH

 

Knowing full well that the messages would continue until she responded, she typed a fast reply.

I’m fine.

 

She picked up a silky black teddy and held it against her body to look in the mirror.   It was not really her style.  She never saw the point in spending a ridiculous amount of money on something that was simply going to get torn off five minutes after putting it on.

 

She heard a message chime that was different from her own at the same time she saw something in the mirror. Sherlock was standing about twenty feet from her, looking irritated and embarrassed.  Before Charlotte could stop herself from laughing, Molly walked out of the changing room, fully covered in a robe, but holding a pair crotchless panties.

 

“Oh my God!” She ducked into the changing room more red than the underwear, which sent Charlotte into fit of laughter.  She was doubled over willing herself not to pee her pants when Sherlock roughly grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the changing rooms.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”  He had turned his earlier embarrassment into anger. Charlotte was also willing to bet he was trying to reestablish his demeanor when he and Charlotte first met. Last night was too close for him, clearly.

 

Still laughing Charlotte choked out, “Molly wanted to have naughty sex tonight with her husband and I was helping her pick out something nasty. Wanna weigh in?” She held up the black teddy between them, only for Sherlock to grip her arm tighter.

 

“Ow-hey!” She yelled out.  His grip loosened slightly. 

 

“Now, is not the time for games Charlotte,” he whispered to her. “I told you not to leave St. Bart’s and here you are on the other side of town, with Molly Hooper. _Shopping_.” His eyes were narrowed and he was very close to Charlotte.

 

Charlotte attempted to pull her arm free, causing him to grip her harder.

“You could have been taken, and no one would have known where you went. I would have thought after the message you received last night your self-preservation would have kicked in. You are supposed to stay where I put you.” His deep voice sounded more menacing through an angry whisper and the look he was giving Charlotte would be enough to scare anyone. Unfortunately for Sherlock, Charlotte was not just anyone. 

 

“Where you put me?  _Where you PUT me?_ I am not some simpering school girl who melts every time you acknowledge my presence.”  Charlotte stood as tall as she could and used the tight grip on his arm to pull him closer to her. “If you’re going to push me off onto someone because you don’t want me tagging around, then it would be _your_ fault if something happened. Not mine.  Got it? And I honestly have no idea what happened last night after we fell asleep, but please stop flattering yourself.   This is a business arrangement as far as I’m concerned.”  Though her petite frame did nothing to intimidate the taller man, her words had surprised him enough that his grip on her arm slackened and she was able to pull her arm free.

 

Charlotte and Sherlock were so wrapped up in each other that they barely noticed when Molly had reappeared.  Molly reached out and touched Charlotte’s arm breaking her gaze.

 

“Come on Charlotte, I’ll take you back…” Molly picked up Charlotte’s bags and guided her away towards the door with a questioning look to Sherlock. He was standing there in shock. Though whether it was from what had transpired between him and Charlotte or the fact that he found himself standing in the lingerie department holding a black teddy, Molly did not have time to figure out. 

 

Molly and Charlotte shared a cab back to Baker Street.  This gave Molly plenty of time to gush about how gratifying it had been to see Sherlock standing in the shop having been properly “put in his place.”  She had completely gotten over her own embarrassment quickly and seemed even more enthusiastic to go home and show Tom her new purchases.

 

Charlotte barely said a word the entire way.  She was furious with Sherlock for his behavior towards her. She was also a little bit scared at his reaction; not the physical violence, she had expected boundary issues with him. Underneath the anger, there was legitimate worry.  Even after the last two days and all she had learned, she had still, deep down believed they all were wrong.  How could she be connected?  Who could want to hurt her?

 

Barely remembering to grab her bags, she mumbled a distracted ‘good bye’ to Molly as she got out of the cab.  Molly called out to her before the cab left that she would call her later to check in.   As she walked in she glanced to the back where Mrs. Hudson’s apartment was.  The lights were still out and the mail was beginning to spill out of the container reserved for her.  The thought had not occurred to her until now, but if Mrs. Hudson was on holiday she was most likely _not_ the person who stocked Sherlock’s fridge and pantry.  With a gasp, she stopped mid-stair, but quickly decided it was way too heavy and complicated to think about at the moment, and continued up to Sherlock’s door.

 

Opening the door, which was unlocked again, she walked in and put the bags on the breakfast bar.  Walking into the living room, she saw a tallish man, in his mid to late forties, dressed in a grey suit that was a size too big, leaning on an umbrella as if it were a cane. When she came into the room, he gave her a familiar patronizing smile.  She in return, cocked her head to the side and crossed her arms.

 

In a long drawling tenor voice he said, “Hello, Charlotte.”

“Hello, Mycroft,” she said.


	10. A Business Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John made me do it. Trust me, he's perfectly fine.

“It is nice to finally meet you,” she said.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.  I make it a point to know all who are closest to my brother,” he walked casually to Sherlock’s leather chair, made a dramatic display of sitting and crossed his legs. 

 

“I am not close with your brother,” she said quickly and little sharply. “I have been _sent_ to live here, by the Watson’s.  I had no say in the matter,” Charlotte admitted as she plopped down in the chair across from him.  She stretched her sore leg out flexing it before letting it rest.

“You’ve injured yourself,” Mycroft said.  “Tell me, was it done doing something fun?”

 

Charlotte smiled at him and gave a small laugh but did not answer him directly. “What can I do for you Mycroft? Sherlock will probably be here soon I only left him twenty minutes ago and he is pretty pissed off at me.” Almost expecting to see him, she turned towards the door.

 

“As much as I enjoy spending time with my little brother, I am here to see you,” he said.

 

Charlotte took a second to process that while raising her eyebrow at him. “I’m flattered,” she said.

 

“So you don’t feel that you are close with my brother?” He asked with skepticism. 

 

Charlotte remained silent, but steeled her eyes and her nerves against whatever his agenda was.

 

“I’m sure that John has told you of my brother’s many vices,” he said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

 

Again, she remained silent, but nodded her head once to acknowledge the statement.  John had in fact told her that Sherlock was an addict in recovery.   His ability to stay clean depended heavily on the cases in his life and his ability to control circumstances surrounding himself and his routine.  John also warned her that Mycroft would attempt to persuade her to spy on Sherlock, for payment of course.

 

“Mycroft, I’m just going to stop you right there,” she said raising her hand in protest to him.   “Yes, I am fully aware of Sherlock’s vices as well as many of his shortcomings. I am not seeking additional employment.  I have been hired to work with Sophie and hopefully once this…case…is solved I will be able to resume that position and move back in with the Watson’s. I am not willing to report information to you, on your brother,” she finished and began standing.  “Tea?”

 

His face had fallen into a somewhat amused yet sardonic expression. Perhaps he was surprised that she caught on so quickly, or because she stood up to him, it did not matter to Charlotte what his feelings were.  She was in work mode.  Confidentiality is the code she lived by.

 

“Yes, please.  And if you have some sweets, that would be lovely, though, knowing Sherlock, there won’t be anything around edible,” he said rolling his eyes.

 

Charlotte smiled, “I was going to make banana nut bread this afternoon actually. Will that be okay?”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.  I am trying to eat healthier these days,” he patted his stomach for good measure.

 

“It looks as if you’re doing well.  I can assure you this is a low calorie treat,” she said from the kitchen, then said almost as an after thought “that is actually good for you,” she added peeking around the corner. 

 

“I see you also have a gift for observation, like my brother and I. I have recently lost weight,” he said coming into the kitchen.

 

Mycroft kept Charlotte company in the kitchen telling her tales from their childhood.  Charlotte especially enjoyed finally have a better understanding of the family relationships and dynamics.  Charlotte learned about Sherlock’s dog Redbeard when he was a small boy and how his passing had broken Sherlock’s heart, a loss, from which he has never fully recovered, according to Mycroft.  

 

Through the duration of the stories, Mycroft was not endearing himself to her very well.  He seemed like a total shit big brother.  Constantly bullying Sherlock for being different or not smart enough.  Always putting him down, when he cared about something. Charlotte was willing to bet that a very good reason Sherlock was unable to trust others or form relationships with anyone was because of the man sitting at the breakfast table across from her right now, laughing about a particular cruel joke he had played on Sherlock when they were in school.  He even found a way to sneak in there that Sherlock had no experience with women and that he believed him to still be a virgin.  Though she was still furious with how Sherlock had treated her today, she also wanted to give him a big hug after learning what an ass-hat his brother had always been. 

 

Not that Charlotte had a lot of experiences with siblings at all. She had had a big sister who was kind and loved her very much.  Anna had been her best friend.  She was smart and wickedly clever.  She allowed her thoughts to wander for a brief moment before sadness could sink its gritty teeth in and pull her under.  Fortunately Mycroft chose that moment to cackle with laughter. If she did not know better, she would swear he was trying to hit on her.  That thought kept her amused enough to not throttle him with the rolling pin she had been shocked to find in a pantry.

 

An hour later Sherlock stormed into the apartment, paused long enough to exhale and give Charlotte a meaningful look, then turned to face his brother.

 

“Why are you here, Mycroft?” He asked impatiently.

 

“ _Manners_ , brother mine. I was just getting to know your new flat mate, Charlotte.  She is a far better cook than the last one, and much prettier,” he finished with a wink at Charlotte.

 

Charlotte smiled in return and went back to the kitchen, rolling her eyes so dramatically once she was out of sight she felt dizzy.  Trying to listen to what they were talking about she went to the oven to pull a second loaf out.  The first one seemed to have vanished rather quickly while she was talking with Mycroft. Evidently reliving the glory days of his cruel experiments on his brother made him famished. When Mycroft admitted that this was a favorite amongst the Holmes boys, Charlotte set out to make a loaf for Sherlock.

 

Charlotte cut these pieces larger and put them on a smaller platter. She brought out a new teacup as well and set both on the table between Mycroft and Sherlock. She had made herself a pot of coffee when she was certain Mycroft had not come to kill her and as the perfect opportunity to occupy her hands so she did not kill him. Grabbing another cup, she walked to the sofa across from the brothers, tucked her good leg under her and settled in for a great show.

 

Sherlock and Mycroft were locked in a staring contest.  Sherlock was sitting with his arms resolutely crossed while Mycroft was relaxed with his legs crossed, twirling the handle of his umbrella.

 

“Brother dear, do try the banana bread.  I dare say it is better than Mothers’.” Looking at Charlotte he said, “Please _never_ tell her I said that.”

 

“I cannot think of why I would ever meet her,” Charlotte said lightly flipping through a magazine she had picked up at the store earlier. Sherlock broke his stare and looked at Charlotte with narrowed eyes.  Choosing his words carefully, he squinted at her and took a deep breath.   “She will be at Sophie’s birthday party.  You will meet her then,” he said looking back to Mycroft.

 

“ _Actually_ , Charlotte,” Mycroft slowly drawled out, “She is hosting the blessed event,” he finished with a smirk at Sherlock.

 

“Awwwesome,” Charlotte said under her breath, as she exchanged the magazine for the book lying on the couch next to her. 

 

Sherlock looked back at her a moment longer, then returned his gaze to Mycroft picking up a piece of the bread.

 

“What do you want, Mycroft?” Sherlock repeated the question to his brother.

 

Charlotte had read _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen every winter since she was in high school.  This winter, she did not get the chance to read because of her duties at the Watson’s.  She had begun reading it around Christmas, but quickly accepted the position as Sophie’s nanny and moved to London.  Mr. Darcy had to wait.  Now that she was stuck here for the foreseeable future, she could get back to the nineteenth century.

 

“She is quite charming.  She is walking with a slight limp and appears to have spent the night before drinking. What _have_ the two of you been doing here?” Mycroft asked slyly.

 

Charlotte looked up ready to defend herself but Sherlock raised his hand in her direction to silence her.

 

“Why are you here, Mycroft?” Sherlock put his teacup back on the saucer after a sip and glared at him.

 

“I thought you might like an update, since you don’t seem to be making much progress on your end,” Mycroft said glancing briefly in Charlotte’s direction.

 

Sherlock leaned forward to pour himself more tea.  He lifted the teapot in Mycroft’s direction, but the elder man simply waved his hand to indicate he had had his fill. 

 

“We have followed the leads you initially sent.  They led nowhere, but you already knew that didn’t you? Anyway, everything is in order. Whenever you get around to finding the next piece, send it over.  How much is Mary helping you on this?” Mycroft looked at Sherlock expectantly.

 

Sherlock had just bitten into his second piece of banana bread and gave his brother a scathing look.

 

“She has made contact with a few…colleagues… of hers in the States. She has not heard anything in the last twenty-four hours.  She had provided a wealth of background information.  We are moving as swiftly as we can, but the subject matter is somewhat…delicate.  It cannot be rushed,” Sherlock said.

 

“What more, of the text messages then?” Mycroft asked.

 

“There were the two messages last night.  One to her mobile and then two minutes later one came to mine, but nothing since then,” Sherlock said.

 

Charlotte again looked up with a start at hearing that Sherlock had received a text as well.  He had not told her that piece of information.

 

“What did yours say?” She asked in a higher pitched voice than usual.

 

Sherlock observed her body language and decided now was not the time to be specific. “More or less the same thing yours did,” he said looking back at Mycroft.

 

“But you never said you had received one.  Why didn’t you tell me last night?” She asked, immediately seized with nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

“Now is not the time, Charlotte.  We will talk about it later,” he said giving her a pained look that silently pleaded with her to be patient with him.

 

“And Mary still has not received anything more?” Mycroft asked, after watching the two of them arguing with the most intrigued look on his face.

 

“No,” was Sherlock’s only response.  Charlotte abandoned her book and sat on the edge of the couch, each muscle clenched in fear.

 

“The new phone records have indicated no further activity, aside from your messages to her today, which she seems to take great pleasure in ignoring. From your chilly reception, I believe, brother dear, that you have upset our dear Charlotte.” Mycroft offered a condescending grin in Sherlock’s direction. 

 

“ _Our_ dear Charlotte? Are you freaking kidding me? What the –” Charlotte was cut off by Sherlock again raising his hand at her but jumped in on her line of thinking.

 

“Mycroft, you’re presence is becoming irritating now,” he said shifting in his seat.

 

“Now, brother, you’re going to have to keep a closer eye on her. You cannot simply leave her to her own devices and then message me to track her down.  I do have a job.  I cannot always be cleaning up after you,” Mycroft did not spare a glance for Charlotte, but was preoccupied with picking invisible lint from his trousers.

 

“Is that how you found me today, Sherlock?  You had Mycroft track me down?  Am I being followed?” She was sitting on the edge of the couch and waiting for answers.  Both men ignored her.

 

“She was not supposed to leave the lab.  Molly had direct instructions-” Sherlock began but was quickly cut off by Mycroft saying, “Dr. Hooper? Oh, tisk tisk, Sherlock. She is no longer under your spell you cannot simply command her to do your bidding.  No, you’re going to have to make an effort to keep your promises this time.  Today could have ended very differently due to your carelessness.” Charlotte could see a fine sheen of perspiration on Sherlock’s upper lip.  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and crossed his legs.

 

Sherlock looked mutinous.  Mycroft smiled at his reaction and glanced at Charlotte, “Dearest, it would be in your best interest to be smart and not wander off again.  All those degrees and you haven’t figured that out yet. Hmm.”

 

“Excuse me?” Charlotte began to stand but Mycroft chose that moment announce his departure.

 

“Well, I think I will be going now.  I would be careful, if I were you,” he said to Sherlock.   “She’s a clever one,” Mycroft said. “Do keep me informed the next time something develops.”

 

Sherlock gave one curt nod of his head, stiffly stood up and walked to the back of the apartment to where his room was.

 

Mycroft stood as well and looked over to Charlotte expectantly.

 

She swallowed some of her fear and put on what she knew was a fairly convincing ‘friendly smile.’  “Mycroft, I just would not feel right without sending you on without a “goodie bag,” she said, smiling brightly at him.

 

“Oh, goodie,” Mycroft said sarcastically.

 

Please let me wrap up the left over banana bread I have in the kitchen. You know he won’t eat anymore of it,” she jerked her head in the direction Sherlock had walked off in.

 

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you at all,” he said but followed her into the kitchen all the same.

 

“It is really, truly my pleasure,” she said handing him the remaining bread wrapped up.

 

“I think you could do wonderful things here, Miss Hastings. I do hope you stay,” Mycroft said before walking out the door.

 

When she heard the sound of the retching coming from the back, she smiled and said to the room, “yes, I intend to.”

 

__________________________________

 

Sherlock emerged from the back of the apartment four hours later, looking feverish and exhausted.

 

Charlotte was on the phone with Sophie when he came out. 

 

“Nanny, where is Sherly?  Where is he? Is he dancing? Is Sherly having a tea party?  Where is Sherly, Nanny Char?”  Sophie sounded excited and eager to speak with her uncle.

 

“Sophie, your uncle is here, but he is not feeling very well and cannot talk to you right now.  I’m sorry sweetie. You might get to see him tomorrow though,” Charlotte was speaking evenly and as quietly as she could.

 

“Mommy has to talk. Nanny. It is time to sleep Nanny,” Sophie handed the phone to Mary.

 

“Charlotte. How are you?” Mary sounded tired as she asked.

 

“I’m doing well, Mary.  How are things over there?” Charlotte kept an eye out for what Sherlock was doing in the kitchen.

 

“Oh you know, laundry, cleaning, trying to catch a psycho, taking care of Sophie.  It is a typical Thursday over here,” Mary said.  “We miss you!”

 

Charlotte felt a strain at the back of her throat and said, “I miss you all too.”

 

She had only known the Watson’s for a couple of months, but in that time they had grown close.  When Charlotte first met Mary, she felt an instant connection.  Charlotte believed in reincarnation and attributed that immediate connection to possibly having been related to her or closely connected in a past life. Mary was warm and kind and very eager to know all about Charlotte.  When Charlotte met Sophie, she could not help but love the child.  Sophie was so loving and happy.  Charlotte’s heart felt full each time Sophie said her name or gave her a hug.

 

“Is Sherlock there?” Mary asked.

 

“Um…”Charlotte said as she craned her neck to see into the kitchen.  “Yes, but he is…looking for something at the moment.”

 

“Alright, Mycroft was looking for him earlier.  We were all supposed to get together today to talk about the texts you both received last night.  Did he make contact?” Mary asked.

 

“Oh, yes.  I did get to spend time with him today.  Very interesting guy,” she said glancing back at the kitchen having heard something crash to the floor. “Listen Mary, I’ve got to go. Just bring Sophie around noon tomorrow, okay?”

 

“Wonderful. She misses you terribly. She is also quite jealous that you are with Sherlock.  She believes you’re both having tea parties and dancing,” Mary laughed.

 

“Oh, yea…non-stop fun over here.  See you tomorrow,” Charlotte said, ending the call.  She slowly unfolded herself from the sofa to walk into the kitchen.  Sherlock was standing with his face in the refrigerator. 

 

“You doing alright?” She asked.

 

“No,” he barely whispered.  Spending a moment more in the fridge, he backed out and closed the door. He slowly stood up straight and turned to face her.

 

He looked awful, pasty, and pale with dark circles under his eyes. She was prepared for this image. John told Charlotte that Sherlock may have relapsed and with her living with him now, it would be the perfect opportunity for a detoxification.  Based on what she was seeing it did not appear that he was back to using regularly.  He had used, but fairly recently.  It would not take long for all of it to clear from his system.

 

“You should probably sit down before you fall down,” Charlotte said with concern.

 

Before he spoke he looked at her properly for the first time since the shop earlier.  She was wearing a tank top and he could see that he had left dark purple bruises on her arm where he had grabbed her.  Looking back at her face, he opened his mouth to say something then immediately closed it again. Looking away for a moment he seemed to collect his thoughts. “I am very sorry, Charlotte,” he said with tired vulnerable eyes.

 

She smiled at him and said, “Yes, I imagine you are.”  She came around the breakfast bar and wet a hand towel with cool water.  She gently pushed him onto the stool there and dabbed his forehead.  He closed his eyes and let her wipe his face. Leaning into her hand when she cupped his cheek with the cool cloth.

 

“No, I am.  Not just because of how I’m feeling.  I’m sorry I hurt you,” he looked back at the bruises on her arm and gently traced them with his long fingers.

 

“I know you are, just relax and close your eyes again,” she said, once again bringing the cool cloth up to his face to sooth his eyes, gently tracing the bruise like circles under his eyes.  He sighed at the relief it brought him and opened his eyes, holding her wrist gently puling it away. 

 

“I felt you do that last night, when you were supposed to be sleeping,” he said searching her face.

 

She smiled in surprise and her cheeks blushed at having been caught. “Well, you were supposed to be asleep too. So there,” she said gently removing his hand and putting it on the table. “You should go back to sleep now while your body won’t fight you.  You need the rest, you’ve got a very special date tomorrow and we need for you to look like the prince Sophie believes you to be.”  She filled a glass of water, pushed it into his hands. “The more fluids you take, the better you will feel,” she said.

 

He got to the doorway before turning back to look at her.  She was on the floor cleaning up the broken dish he had knocked over on his way in.   “Was it Molly that gave you the formula?”

 

“No. Go to bed.  Sophie will be here at noon,” Charlotte said turning off the light and walking past him.

 

He reached for her arm once more, but only to touch her shoulder. “How did you know?” He asked her. Charlotte had only known the man for a couple of days, but he had seen her at her worst, it was time to show him not everyone he meets is a creep.  She walked back to him and cupped his face in her hand smiling at him. “John.  He’s worried about you and I can’t say that I blame him,” Charlotte said still smiling warmly at him.  She removed her hand and began to walk past him again, but again, he reached for her hand. 

 

“Are you planning to tell him about this?” He asked quietly.

 

“I believe he is paying me to do just that,” she said.  “You realize with me here now, and with my background, you’ll need to be more clever if you’re to continue with this habit of yours.”

 

“It was for a case last week.  I only had one hit because I didn’t want to go down this path again,” he said look at her openly.

 

“I understand Sherlock.  It is almost out of your system.  I can’t lie to John, but perhaps my details can remain vague this time and then hopefully there won’t be a next time.”

 

Sherlock lifted his water glass in cheers and started walking back to his room when a thought had occurred to him.  “Didn’t Mycroft have the same food I did today?”

 

“Yes, but that was the first loaf.  I made the second loaf for you, but I must be honest and tell you the partial reason was detoxify you but also, I was really angry about this,” she said looking at the bruises on her arm.

 

“Ah, but you sent Mycroft home with the remainder of the second loaf, right?” He asked almost smiling.

 

“Of course,” she said simply. 

 

Closing the distance between them he walked forward and asked, “Why would you do that to him?  He doesn’t need a detox?”

“Sherlock, I’ve seen a lot of siblings cases over the years.  Maybe nothing was ever done because ya’ll are British and recognize things differently, but where I’m from, in my field of work, he was abusive to you, mentally, verbally, and sometimes physically abusive. And while I’ll never get to know or protect the little boy who lost his best friend, or the young man tortured for being different, I sure as hell am never allowing that behavior to continue in my presence.  Well, that and he really pissed me off.”  Charlotte had started to walk towards him but thought better of it, blushing slightly.

 

“I’m sorry, I just cannot stand bullies.  I’ve worked and lived with them my whole life. I’m pretty passionate about tolerance I sort of step out of bounds.” She said looking down.  “I’m going to go read for a while, if you need anything let me know.  Still, you should sleep on your side just incase, but you look like you’re fine now.”

 

He watched her go with his mouth slightly open, mind flying through the words she had said and deducing what Mycroft had actually told her. He had a lot of thoughts and questions, and he probably did not want the answers. 

 

He walked past the door to her room and waited for a moment.  She probably had her ear buds in because he heard her singing bits and pieces of things absently.  He wanted to thank her for being on his side, for defending him.  He also wanted to sleep in her room again. Next to her he had slept better than he had in days, months really. As he was about to knock, he remembered her words from the store.  This was a _business_ relationship.  She was in the business of human behavior, in children, but still any age group could apply.  Just business. He slowly lowered his fisted hand and walked to his room, alone.


	11. Dreams

Sherlock was not in the apartment when Charlotte got up the next morning, which was just as well.  After the reality of the last few days hit Charlotte, she could not deal with having someone as observant as Sherlock poking around her psyche.  She also figured he would need some distance from her this morning because of last night.  There was a moment when things got too real for even unshakable Charlotte. A wall had dropped between Sherlock and herself.  She woke up feeling more tired than when she had gone to sleep.  Her sleep the night before had been broken and not restful.

 

At one point during the night she remembered feeling over heated. She had considered opening a window, but the effort of getting out of bed seemed rather unpleasant. Charlotte settled for kicking the blankets off and quickly fell back to sleep.  She used to be a very sound sleeper. She would almost always wake up in the same position she had fallen asleep in. 

 

Over the last few months though, she became very fitful.  She would sometimes wake up in a completely different room, or wearing something different than when she had fallen asleep. It scared her that her body would act of its own accord without her conscious mind realizing it.  She had realized how awkward that could be for her in Sherlock’s apartment last night when he had admitted he was awake when she traced the circles under his eyes. While done in innocence, it was an incredibly intimate thing to do.  She was mortified to know he had been awake at the time and then immediately confused about why he did not stop her and why he proceeded to hold her hand when she had laid hers down in his.  Not to mention confused about why she had done any of it in the first place.  Stupid wine.

 

To be certain she would not do something regretful or embarrassing she used an old trick she had learned from her roommate in college.  Charlotte took a loosely tied bag of marbles and precariously balanced it on the knob of the door.  If she tried to open the door, the bag would fall, spill the marbles everywhere and the sound would wake her.  The insurance in the marble trick was also that if the sound did not rouse her, then the pain of stepping on one would.

 

Alarmed to find she was covered with blankets again, she sat up and did a check. She was wearing what she put on when she went to sleep, the door was still closed, and the bag of marbles she had precariously balanced on the doorknob was still intact. She must have gotten cold again and recovered herself. 

 

She made a large pot of coffee and took her time going through each delicious cup.  She dressed simply for the day, anticipating a lot of movement and time spent on the floor in a princess fort. 

 

John had given her a checklist of places Sherlock stashed cigarettes and other assorted drug paraphernalia. His room was exactly as she imagined it would be.  Organized, coded and precise.  He would know if anything was moved, which is exactly why she did not hide the fact that she had searched through it.  She hated searching through personal items.  A person’s room was their true personal space and to go through everything was an incredible invasion.  Unfortunately, recovering addicts were not afforded the luxury of privacy when someone like Charlotte was around and expected to give a full report.

 

He had at least ten suits, five different silk robes, endless button down shirts of various shades, and exactly one pair of sweatpants. There were several pajama bottoms, but no pajama tops, and he had seven t-shirts.  One drawer was devoted to boxers and three pairs of black boxer briefs.  There were two pairs of the exact same shoes, which meant he had three assuming he was wearing one of the pairs now, and one pair of gross sneakers.  In the closet there were assorted weapons and blades but fortunately no guns.  There was a periodic table hanging on the far wall, but aside from that there was not much by way of decoration in the room.  It truly looked like a place he came to sleep in and nothing else. There were no photographs of him with his family or his beloved dog anywhere that Charlotte could immediately see.  She was not doing a full search unless she felt it was necessary.  John’s list was detailed enough for her comfort level. She did find twenty-three cigarettes in various places but fortunately, she found nothing illegal.

 

Out in the living room there was a beautiful writing desk. Looking through the drawers she found a ring box containing an engagement ring.  It was nothing to write home about.  A princess cut diamond solitaire set in a white gold band. She could only assume the story behind this was for a case.  She made a mental note to ask for the story at some point: just for her own amusement. She returned it to its former resting place and started getting ready for Sophie’s arrival.

 

Sophie came bursting in precisely at noon, with Mary trailing behind her.

 

“Nanny! Nanny!  Charlotte, where is Sherly?  Is Sherly here? Where is Sherly? Mummy, where is Sherly?”  Sophie immediately ran to Sherlock’s chair, jumped up and began bouncing as she had a couple of days before.  Clearly this was a routine.

 

“Sophie, get down right this minute,” Mary reprimanded her.

“Sophie get down! Sophie get down. You may NOT jump on Sherly’s chair. No jumping.  Nanny, where is Sherly?” Sophie plopped down on the chair and began playing with her shoelaces.

 

“She has been like this since yesterday,” Mary said exasperated as she reached to pull Charlotte into a bear hug.

 

“Sherlock isn’t here,” she said returning the hug.  “I woke up and he was gone,” Charlotte said quietly not wanting to alert Sophie to the news.

 

“How did last night go, then? Mary asked, letting Charlotte go to put the tea on.

 

“Uh…well, you and John were right.  But it is hard to tell how long he’s been using again.  I only gave him a mild dose, but it seemed to be enough to make him really sick.  I’d say at this point most of it is out of his system.  There is nothing in the apartment aside from twenty-three cigarettes.”  Charlotte was still speaking quietly when Sophie let out a shriek.   Charlotte ran to the other room to find Sophie at the door ready to pounce. 

 

Mary followed her and leaned against the doorframe watching Sophie with adoration.  “Oh that’s right Char, you’ve never seen this before, have you?”  Mary laughed and walked back into the kitchen.

 

Charlotte heard footsteps coming quickly up the steps.  From behind the door a gentle voice asked, “Where’s my girl?”

 

Again Sophie shrieked, but this time Charlotte understood why. As Sherlock opened the door Sophie pounced up on to him.

 

“How’s my girl?” He cooed to her, spinning her around the room as if they were in the middle of a ballroom dancing a waltz. 

 

Charlotte was stunned into silence at how he changed when Sophie was in the room. He looked younger and lighter than she had ever seen him.  His smile reached his eyes as they sparkled, looking at Sophie. The last time they had all been together, he was focused on Charlotte demanding an explanation for why it took her so long to find Sophie after he had taken her from the bakery. She never got to appreciate the depth of love he felt for her.  She had seen that he loved her, but this was a different scene entirely. He was happier with her here. She knew how much Sophie loved him though.  That much had always been clear.

 

“My girl is fine.  Can we dance now? Sherly loves to dance with Sophie.  Nanny watch Sherly dance with Sophie!  Sherly loves Sophie. Sherly loves her. Looooove.” After several turns around the room, Sophie began unwrapping herself from Sherlock and jumped to the floor.

 

“I need squeezes,” she said with conviction.  When Sherlock reached for her again, she ran to Charlotte instead. Sherlock observed the pair and could not help but feel a little disappointed that Sophie went to Charlotte for her hug. 

 

Charlotte placed her hands on either side of Sophie’s face and gently pressed over her ears.  Sophie looked at Charlotte for a bit but then looked around the room taking it all in.

 

“You’re doing that wrong,” Sherlock said stepping closer, pleased that he would still be needed.

 

Sophie looked at Charlotte for a moment before saying, “Now Sherly squeezes.”

 

Sherlock opened his arms to give her a big hug when she looked at Charlotte for direction.

 

“It’s okay to have squeeze hugs from family members, go ahead Sophie,” Charlotte said looking at the girl to see what choice she would make.

 

“What’s this?” He asked Charlotte and Mary, when Sophie was making her choice and lingering at Charlotte’s side.

 

“Charlotte is preparing Sophie to attend school soon, Sherlock.  It would be inappropriate for the teaching staff outside of her classroom to give hugs, so Charlotte is teaching her various methods to receive comfort that are actually meeting her needs more than what we have always assumed a hug would,” Mary said simply, sitting on the arm chair.

 

“Also,” Charlotte said, “she is learning how to comfort herself independently this way.”

 

He looked as if he wanted to argue with the women, but was willing to give the little girl anything she needed, so he knelt down next to Sophie. Sherlock placed his hands over her ears as he had just seen Charlotte do, thinking of how he did exactly the same to Charlotte a couple of nights ago to help her focus.  Sophie smiled at him in encouragement and let him try it.  Then moving out of his reach she decided she did not want any more squeezes.  She wanted a piggyback, since Sherlock was partly on the ground already.  Without warning, Sophie leaped on Sherlock’s back causing them both to fall.

 

“Sophie!” Mary and Charlotte both yelled.  To their relief though both Sherlock and Sophie were dissolving into a fit of giggles.

 

While Sherlock entertained Sophie in the other room, Charlotte and Mary had a chance to sit and chat mostly about the following weekend’s birthday party. Mary confirmed that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes are delighted to host the party at their country house. There was a huge yard to have games and set up the tent for the “ballroom.”  Mrs. Holmes just needed help the day before to set up for the party and expected the family to stay through for a family supper on Sunday.

 

“So, does that mean, you and I will go over on Friday to get things set up?” Charlotte asked Mary.

 

“Erh, actually, you and Sherlock are going up together on Friday to set up. I’ll be there first thing Saturday morning.  The party is at 2:00pm the next day and I expect we will all be in our own beds on Sunday night,” Mary said marking notes down on her to-do list.

 

“Is that really necessary?  Mary, I’m very happy to help, you know that, but I don’t belong there for the entire time.” Charlotte was more nervous about meeting Mr. and Mrs. Holmes than anything. 

 

“Don’t you worry yourself about that.  You are family, dear.  They are expecting you to be there the entire time.  Sophie wouldn’t have it any other way, so be sure to pack enough for two nights,” Mary said affectionately patting Charlotte’s hand.

 

Charlotte and Mary figured out what was left to buy for the party and all that could be done the night before to save time on the actual day.  Sophie had chosen costumes for them all to wear. She had chosen outfits similar to those in the Sleeping Beauty movie.  Of course Sherlock was to be dressed as Prince Philip, red cape and all. John and Mary were to be dressed as the King and Queen and Charlotte was allowed to choose between the three fairies which dress she preferred.  Charlotte chose the green dress because it was the least hideous one of the group when she had tried them on two weeks ago.  As for her guests, they all had to be in “fancy clothes” and were not assigned a specific character.  Charlotte suggested to Mary that Mycroft should dress as Maleficent, but did not get her hopes up.

 

After Sherlock and Sophie built a fort in the living room, Charlotte was summoned participate in story time.  Today’s tale was “The Wind in the Willows.”  Before Charlotte went to the fort, Mary had her make a grocery list and went out to get a few things.

 

Under the sheets of the fort, Sophie had spread out a large blanket. At some point she must have gone around the apartment collecting every pillow in the place and laid them out on top to create a “reading cloud.”

 

Sherlock was lying down, propped up by several pillows and Sophie was his little spoon.  The sight of the two of them like that was enough to melt even the coldest heart and she wished for a brief moment she had a camera to capture it.  Charlotte laid down next Sophie and looked expectantly for Sherlock to begin reading.

 

The space was confined with the three of them in there and Charlotte could feel her panic rising.  She knew how irrational it was, she was perfectly safe, she was only under a sheet, and yet, the feeling of an elephant sitting on her chest was overwhelming.

 

Whispering Sophie said, “Nanny stop. Stop. Nanny you must stop.  Breathe like me!” And she proceeded to demonstrate the most exaggerated breathing, much like that of someone hyperventilating. Not able to stop, she busted out laughing, breaking up the weight of fear that had been settling on her.

 

Irritated at having to wait, Sherlock tisked them. Charlotte and Sophie simultaneously shooshed each other, which sent another wave of laughter through the fort. Sherlock gave up and laughed along.  When the trio had finally gotten it together he began the story.  When Sophie was no longer pleased with his voice she took over for him, but eventually her little arms grew tired of holding the book so she gave it back to him to continue. 

 

It was not long before Charlotte and Sophie were asleep.  The cadence of his speech matched with the timbre of his voice lulled the pair of them into relaxation and the warmth of the makeshift tent was like a gentle hug.  Charlotte was in a state where she knew she was asleep but could still hear Sherlock reading.  She was going in and out of consciousness enough to have strange fragmented dreams. 

 

She was running down a long hallway, going from room to room in a dark house desperate to find something racing against an unknown deadline. In one room, the walls were covered with pictures that she could not quite make out.  There was a huge stain on the floor and something huddled in the corner.  As she approached it, she found herself in the hallway again.

 

Another room was pink.  Bright pink. So pink it hurt her eyes. Sophie was in the middle of the room sitting in a leather chair, with a bloody knife sitting on the arm of the chair, swinging her feet back and forth.  Charlotte tried to speak to her, to tell her not to touch the knife but found she could not talk.  Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.  She looked desperately at Sophie for help, but the child simply shook her head and placed a finger over her lips to tell Charlotte not to make a sound. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear Sophie say, “Don’t turn around Nanny.  You are not ready to know this yet.”

 

Somehow in dreams, there are moments when the dreamer is omniscient. Charlotte knew something dreadful was behind her.  She could feel it. It felt like the rush of adrenaline after narrowly avoiding a traffic accident, or the immediate tickle felt after seeing a spider.  A cold, numbing sensation trickled down her side and she knew.  She brought her hand to her side and felt a hot sticky substance.  Charlotte looked to Sophie to tell her to look away, not wanting to frighten the child. Sophie was no longer in the chair. A different girl was looking back at her, moving the blade of the knife in front of her like a ticking metronome.  The girl began talking but the sound was reaching Charlotte in a delay as if she was at the opposite end of a tunnel.  Before Charlotte could wake herself she heard a vaguely familiar voice.  “It’s almost time to begin our game, Charlotte. Better not… _run_.”

 

The sounds and smells of the present came back to her and with a jerk she opened her eyes and gasped, fully waking up.  Sherlock was still reading and Sophie, having woken up before Charlotte was still interrupting him when he did the voices wrong. Charlotte took a deep breath, grateful to be back in the present, reached to her side and traced the scar there.

 

Coming to herself, she lowered her hand and glanced over to see Sherlock looking at her with concern.  Sophie was taking over now because he was not doing the Otter’s voice justice. Charlotte needed to get up off the floor and walk around.  She needed to walk away from that crazy dream.  She could feel its tentacles on her still threatening to pull her back in.  As she made to stand Sherlock mimicked the movement but she held her hand up communicating that she was fine and he should stay.

 

“I just have to get up for a bit,” Charlotte said distractedly to the pair. Sophie continued reading without pause.  Charlotte could feel Sherlock’s eyes on her as she left the fort and knew she would have to get her act together or be forced to describe every last detail of the dream. She was not ready to understand it for herself yet, she could not face letting someone else in on the inner workings of her subconscious mind. 

 

Grabbing her jacket from her room, she slipped out of the apartment and down to the street below.  Taking huge gulps of air, she could feel the dream slowly leaving her body. The smell of the deli next door was nauseating and she needed to get away from it.  Without a destination in mind, she turned left and began walking.  She had left her purse and phone in the apartment, so taking a cab was not an option. Her original intention was simply to sit on the stoop and collect herself before going back in, but her feet could not be stopped.  Looking up every now and then to cross the street or avoid bumping into strangers she realized she was heading towards the park.

 

Charlotte came upon a bench and sat heavily.  She looked out at the scene in front of her without really seeing anything.  People were walking past either alone or with pets and or children.  In her minds eye they were blobs of color against a grey landscape.  She spared a moment to miss the sun, but then slipped back into her earlier trance. Charlotte was not thinking in clear thoughts at all, it was more of a meditative state.  Her brain was quiet and a strange calm had settled around her.

 

She heard the hustle and bustle of the city surrounding her but she was not listening to anything.  Her eyes fell upon a green shoot breaking through the cold ground and she fixated on that for a while.  She became vaguely aware of someone sitting next to her some time later. Maybe it was twenty minutes. Maybe it had been an hour, she did not know.

 

The person sitting next to her was silent.  Her thoughts felt so jumbled she forgot to feel fear or discomfort. She realized at that moment, she was too tired to care.  After that she slowly came back to herself realizing what an awful feeling it was to not care for her own safety.  Charlotte was surprised to feel stiff and achy and realized she must have been sitting there for quite some time.

 

“Whatsa matter, Miss?”  The man next to her had a soft raspy tenor voice.  He was dressed in filthy clothing.  But that was not quite right.  His clothing looked filthy, but his face was clean and he did not smell. Staring at him a little longer, she also realized that his facial hair was neatly trimmed. Here was someone pretending to be homeless, but in actuality probably had a very good home to return to. This man was working a job.

 

“Why are you pretending to be homeless?” She countered.

 

“I asked you first,” he replied.

 

“And I asked you second,” she said, the corner of her lips lifting slightly remembering a similar exchange with Sherlock.

 

“Name’s Bill.  Whasyours Miss?” He angled his body towards her ready for a conversation.

 

“Piss off.  That’s my name, now beat it.”  Charlotte had gone from meditative and emotionless to irritated in fifteen seconds.

 

“Thas’noh very nice Miss, I was asked to look after you,” he said calmly.

 

“Drop the crap _William_ , are you one of Sherlock’s minions?  I’m fine. I’ll go back when I’m damn well ready, which is not right now, so text him and tell him that, and then feel free to go about your day.”  Charlotte crossed her arms and sat stubbornly looking out again at the grey landscape.

 

Bill did not hesitate in taking out his phone after muttering, “it’s Bill, Miss.”  After a minute, his phone pinged with a new message.  Bill snorted and turned to Charlotte expecting to tell her what he found amusing. When he realized she was looking off in the opposite direction not acknowledging him, he put the phone back into his pocket and huffed with disappointment.

 

A few moments passed in silence.  Charlotte did not like having company on the bench plus she was starting to feel cold and hungry.

 

“I’ll be takin ya home now, Miss,” Bill said standing up.

 

“No, you won’t.  I’ll be taking myself back to the apartment,” she said glaring at him.

 

“Miss, I swore I’d get ya home safely,” he insisted.

 

“I’ll pay you twice what Sherlock is giving you to leave me alone now,” she said.  Bill hesitated with that and shook his head.

 

“No, Miss, he ain’t payin me nuffin.  And don’t bother offerin, I gotta take ya home.” He held his arm up for her to indicate the direction in which to walk.

 

She slowly stood and stretched, immediately feeling dizzy with the rush of blood to her head.  Taking a brief moment to close her eyes and center herself she heard Bill’s phone ping again. The dizzy spell did not pass, so she sat immediately back down and put her head between her knees to balance her equilibrium. 

 

The sound of blood rushing through her eardrums muted the sounds around her. Taking one more deep breath she opened her eyes and tried standing again.

 

“Alright, fine.  Take me home, then.” Charlotte turned to where she believed Bill to be standing only to find the space empty.

 

“Well, how do you like that?  Can’t even rely on a minion. Hmph.”  Charlotte began walking in the direction she had come from.  Looking around she realized it had gotten much darker. She estimated that it had to be between three or four o’clock in the afternoon at this point.  She pulled her coat closer to her, lowered her head and walked on.

 

Before leaving the park she had the distinct feeling that someone was watching her.  She tried not to be too obvious by turning around each time she heard something. Every time she did though, she only saw everyday people wandering around.  No one looked suspicious or menacing.

 

About four blocks from the apartment the feeling of being followed became too intense so she began walking faster.  Whatever previous attempts of concealing their presence were abandoned.  Fear finally settled into Charlotte’s chest.  She was chastising herself for not bringing her phone.  It was such a stupid thing to do and she deeply regretted it now.  She was coming upon an intersection when she could hear the pounding of footsteps behind her.

 

A fresh wave of terror gripped her and she half-heartedly looked both ways before running into the intersection.  As her foot came down on the road a huge double-decker bus came barreling around the corner.  She had been running too fast to change her direction, as her hand came in contact with the side of the bus she felt a sharp tug on her coat and she was pulled back in time. Strong arms held her. She did not have to turn around or open her eyes to know whom it was.

 

“You found me,” she said in a breathless voice.

 

“Of course,” he replied against the side of her head, equally breathless.

 

“Took you long enough,” she said, laying her head back against his chest smiling at the amount of relief she felt as he began to silently laugh. She would choose to worry about her reaction to him finding her later once her blood pressure returned to normal.


	12. Table Manners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock forces Charlotte to eat something after her brush with the double-decker bus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while to do this, because each time I read it I was pleased, but then an hour or so later felt it was way too close to a Twilight scene. I'm sorry if it still is.

Forty minutes later and she was sitting in a sub-par version of an Italian restaurant refusing to order anything until Sherlock relented and ordered something as well.  To a casual observer, they appeared to be a regular couple putting each other through the silent treatment.  Charlotte sat with her legs crossed at the knee and arms folded tightly across her chest. Sherlock was sitting back in his chair, with the ankle of his left leg atop the knee of his right scrolling through both of their phones, pretending he did not feel her glaring at him.

 

“You’re wasting your time.  Eating slows me down,” he said simply as if that took care of everything.

 

“You were the one who pulled me in here.  I told you, I’m not hungry.”  Charlotte replied lifting her chin in defiance and looking out the window to a now darkened street.

 

“Of course you’re hungry.  You eat regularly at this time.  Grab the waiter the next time he comes round,” he said distractedly.

 

When she did not reply he looked up to see her staring off into space.

 

“Are you going to tell me about what happened earlier today, yet?” He asked, hopeful.

 

“Nope,” she continued watching the people eating in the restaurant.

 

“Why do you watch people eating? It’s a disgusting thing, eating. Why would you intentionally watch people doing that?” He looked indifferent to whatever her answer might be. She figured this was his attempt to make small talk.

 

“I’m really okay just sitting here silently.  You do not need to speak to entertain me, really.” She rolled her eyes at him from across the table, changing the position of her legs.  Her knee was still aching a bit from the other day, but the pain had almost gone completely.  The bruise however, was still gross.  Running this afternoon, plus the damp weather made it feel pretty bad now that she was sitting.  She stood to stretch both her legs and made a move to leave the table.

 

“Where are you going?” He asked surprised by her sudden movement.

 

“Where you are not allowed to follow.”  When he stared at her baffled she pointed in the direction of the bathrooms and he went back to the phones.

 

In the bathroom she had a proper moment to collect her thoughts. She was horrified by her reflection in the mirror.  Her eyeliner was smudged on the outer corners of both eyes making it look like she was either very inexperienced at applying makeup or had just been crying. After she fixed that she tackled the birds nest that had once been her beautiful hair.  The purposefully messy ponytail she had made this morning was atrocious.  No wonder people had given her odd looks in the restaurant; Sherlock looked like his usual self with his suit and coat and she, a hot mess.  Taking it down and combing her fingers through it, she was feeling better and decided to leave it down.  The hair tie was giving her a headache anyway.

 

Once she was satisfied with her hair she pinched her cheeks to add a little more color.  The fluorescent lights made her look completely washed out in the bathroom mirror; she would not look so pasty when she was back at the table.  The owner, whatever Sherlock had said his name was added candles to the table which at least provided a nice ambiance to go with the place.

 

Back at the table she was unsurprised to find a plate of pasta at her place setting.  She was however, surprised to find a bottle of wine on the table. She sat down and poured herself a glass and resumed people watching.

 

“You need to eat that,” Sherlock said looking up from his phone, taking a double take.  “You fixed your face and your hair.”  It was not a question.

 

“Yup,” she replied continuing to sip her wine.  “And, I’m not eating that yet.”

 

“Why would you bother to fix your hair and makeup?” He asked, snidely.

“Because, it makes me feel better to know I’m presenting myself in a manner that suggests I may have my life together and am not just a hot-mess who has given up on life,” she responded finishing the glass and placing it on the table.

 

His only response was, “Just eat.”

“What if I’m allergic to marinara sauce?” She countered. 

“You’re not.”

“What if I had a gluten allergy?”

Instead of responding he pointedly looked at the empty wineglass and went back to his phone.

 

“Alright, fair enough.  What if I just don’t like it?”

“You do.”

“How the hell can you know what I like and what I don’t like?” She asked, becoming more irritated by the second. 

 

He looked back at her and leaned in very close.  He had “bakery-eyes” again.  This was how Charlotte liked to categorize his expressions.  The first look he ever gave her happened days earlier in the bakery, with Sophie. He used his “bakery-eyes” to force her to look away, embarrassed by his boldness.  She held her own this time though, a move she greatly attributed to the wine now flowing through her bloodstream.

 

“When you came to the table, through your irritation, your eyes dilated, and you swallowed three times which suggests increased salivation. Therefore, you quite like the scent of the food and are now just being stubborn to aggravate me.”

 

She smiled at that knowing he was right the entire time, but pleased that he acknowledged his aggravation with her.  He smiled in return and sat back, breaking eye contact to return to his phone, typing something out.

 

“You’re very confident in yourself, aren’t you?” She asked.

“Why shouldn’t I be?  I’m always right,” he said, not bothering to look up from the phone.

“No,” she said pouring another glass of wine.

“No? What do you mean, no?” He asked, shifting his legs and looking back at her.

“I’m not really a fan of wine,” she said, looking away.

“Is that so?” He asked giving her “bakery-eyes” again. 

“Yup, but you just assumed since I drank an entire bottle the other night that I enjoyed it,” she said raising her eyebrow at him.

 

“Or, you’re an alcoholic getting a fix wherever you can,” he said, looking back at his phone.

“What if I threw food at you?”

“You wouldn’t,” he said confidently.  Two seconds later he was pelted with a breadstick.

 

“What happened to appearing like you have your life together?” He asked her with a smirk on his face, brushing crumbs out of his hair and off the lapel of his suit jacket.

 

“Just be grateful it was only the breadstick I threw.  I believe I just proved you’re not always right. As for my appearance, makeup is an illusion.  Any woman can tell you that.  I can appear however I want and act completely different.” She smiled, amused with herself and picked up the fork.

 

She was very hungry, and was not willing to have another night like the other one where she ended up a soggy, snotty crying mess unable to control the words coming out of her mouth.  Sherlock seemed to have noticed this too and poured her another glass of wine.

 

A moment later the waiter appeared with an omelet for Sherlock. Perplexed he looked at the waiter with condescension and said, “I didn’t order this,” pushing it back at the waiter.

 

Charlotte was on the verge of snorting pasta up her nose trying not to laugh with her mouth full.  “I did,” she said to him, thanked the waiter and asked him for two glasses of water.

 

“Eat,” she said going back to her own plate.

 

Sherlock sat and stared at her for a moment.  She could almost hear every phrase he was composing in his mind.

 

“Dude, just give it up and eat.  You won’t win this round, and you’re not getting me to drink alone tonight. I will not be spilling the contents of my heart and soul again.”  She thought on that for a moment and added, “Unless you join me.”

 

“I don’t drink,” he said simply grabbing his own fork.  “And why did you call me _dude_?”

“Just to hear you repeat it,” she said smiling back at him.  Since coming to England, she discovered how amusing it was to hear people with British accents say ridiculous things, like dude and of course her favorite, _aluminum._

 

“Why was there wine in your apartment?” She asked, pleased that she had easily engaged him in conversation.

“John must have left it behind,” he said shrugging his shoulders and eating a bite of the food.

“Bullshit,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” He asked, nearly choking on his food.

“I call bullshit.  I don’t believe you,” she put her fork down and sat back in her chair staring him down.

 

The waiter arrived with the water she had asked for.  She poured wine for Sherlock, and drank deeply from her water glass.

 

“I thought your one condition was for us to both be intoxicated this evening,” he said smirking at her again.

 

“Oh it is, but to do it here could be very bad for you.  I’m sure you have a reputation to uphold. People seem to be giving you looks of awe in the hopes that they can capture your attention. Mostly the women.  Poor girls,” she observed, pouring herself two fingers width of wine in her own glass.

 

“No, Charlotte they were looking at your atrocious hair,” he said shortly.

 

She could not help but bark out a laugh.  It was such a rude comment that to anyone else offense would have been taken.  She immediately thought of Molly and how anything like this said to her years ago, possibly even now would crush her.

 

He looked legitimately surprised that she was laughing at his comment instead of blushing with embarrassment.  It had always been his experience that comments like that directed at women caused self-doubt leading to them backing down.  The fact that Charlotte was laughing at him reminded him once again of her words from the shop yesterday.  _Just business._ She could not be swayed so easily.

 

“You aren’t easily intimidated, are you?” He asked, leaning in, eyeing her up.

Leaving three inches between them, she closed the distance and replied, “Are you?”

He narrowed his eyes at her and sat back first.  Smiling, she sat back and sipped the wine in her glass.

“Why would I find _you_ intimidating?” He said with a scoff.

 

“You sat back first.  You talk a big game.  I’m wondering though, can you take the heat?  You casually throw out insensitive comments to get a reaction. Most of the time you already know how the person will react.  For reasons unknown to you, I don’t react in ways you’re able to anticipate, so yes, I intimidate you. Now, let’s take a moment to analyze your appearance then, shall we? I mean, if you’re so very willing to point out my flaws, by all means let’s see how you react. Do you think I can make you squirm?” she asked eagerly sitting forward in her chair.

 

Sherlock could only stare at her half intrigued and half horrified that she would actually go through with it.  She lifted her index finger and took a deep breath just as he interrupted her.

 

“Okay, fine.  Not here. You’re right, let’s go back to the flat.” He put his fork down and drank the wine in his glass avoiding her eyes.

“This is going to be too much fun,” she said through her laughter. She caught the waiter’s attention and asked for the check.

 

“You settle up and I’ll grab a taxi, I’m going to have so much fun with you tonight, Mr. Holmes,” she said grabbing her coat, throwing it over her arm and walking out. Sherlock was left staring after her with a confused expression on his face.


	13. Bringing Up Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dinner, conversation takes an unexpected turn for the weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just acknowledge now that I have definitely deviated from the character on the show. I'm sorry, but I'm not because this has been too amusing to write.

Back in the apartment, Charlotte tossed her coat and shoes into her room and set out to make popcorn.  Sherlock watched her move from room to room with an apprehensive expression on his face.  He had not said a word since the restaurant.  In the cab he looked like he was going to be sick.

 

“I don’t like popcorn,” he said lamely.

 

“Who said I’d be sharing?” She retorted from the kitchen adding, “grab some glasses, get the fire going and get comfy.”  With the popcorn in the microwave she went back to her room to put on her yoga pants and a long sweater.  She washed her face and threw her hair back up into a messy bun.

 

Coming back into the living room, she found Sherlock sitting on the edge of his leather chair still in his suit, tapping his fingers.  When he looked up and took in her appearance she could see an imperceptible loss of tension in his face.

 

“You changed and you don’t have any makeup on now,” he said.  “I don’t understand.”

 

“Yeah, of course.  I’ll be too tired later to bother with the whole nightly ritual of getting my face clean and moisturized and at my age a night missed is a wrinkle gained.  I figured I’d do it now.  Why are you confused?”  She went back into the kitchen, took the popcorn from the microwave and emptied it into a large bowl.  She was pleased that Mary had found the champagne she had asked for. Turning off the light she came back in, put it on the coffee table, grabbed the blanket Sophie had used earlier for the fort, and spread it on the floor.  Looking up Sherlock was lost in thought.  She grabbed some of the pillows still remaining in the room and dumped them to the floor as well.  Grabbing the popcorn, she flopped down onto the pillows and waited for him to come out of his internal script.

 

After several moments he looked back at her with an expression she had not seen before.  It was almost as if he just realized another person was in the room.

 

“Where did you just go?” She was watching him like she would a client.  Trying to anticipate his next move.  Trying to decode his way of thinking.

 

He just continued to look at her, trying to figure something out.  “At the restaurant, you said you wanted us to both to be intoxicated.  You said that I am intimidated by you and that you would have _fun_ with me tonight_”

 

She sat up realizing his confusion and immediately felt horrified.  She spoke in a quiet, even toned voice maintaining eye contact with him.

 

“No!  Oh my God, Sherlock, I am so sorry.  I just meant that I wanted to know more about you this evening.  I feel like you know so much about me.  If I’m supposed to live here with you, I’d like a better understanding of you, and not just snippets of memories that John and Mary have shared or stories of your childhood from Mycroft.  I promise, I meant nothing suggestive or…well, whatever you may have been thinking, I can assure you, I just wanted to talk with you.”  She was mortified and could feel the heat creeping into her cheeks. 

 

“So, you…so… it was _not_ your plan to seduce me tonight,” he said more statement than question.

 

“Not at all,” she said carefully, watching his reaction.

 

He thought about her words for a moment and nodded his head.  He got up and paced in front of her a few times, thinking.  When he finally stopped he looked at her hard, pressed his lips together and decided on what he wanted to say.

“Why?”  He asked. 

 

“What do you mean, why?” She stared at him, thrown.

 

“Well, why wouldn’t you want to be with me sexually?  You don’t find me desirable?” He asked, again stopping in front of her.

 

It was an innocent enough question, but something stopped her from answering immediately.  The last few days played through her mind like a movie.  Fragments of conversations she had had with both Mary and John came back to her like a commentary voice-over to her memories.  She remembered the engagement ring stuffed unceremoniously in the back of a drawer, all of his seemingly awkward blunderings when she was uncomfortably close, the willingness to stay with her until she fell asleep.  It all came together.

 

“Ha, of course, of course,” she whispered to herself shaking her head.  She looked hard at him for a moment before breaking out into an awed grin.  She popped the cork on the champagne and poured herself a generous glass raising it in his direction.  “Well played, Mr. Homes.  Well played.”  She drank deeply and leaned back on the armchair waiting for his next move.

 

At first he feigned surprise then finally dropped the expression and sat back in his chair. “Alright, what is it you think you’ve figured out exactly?” He asked bringing his hands up under his chin.

 

“You’re playing me,” she said laughing.  “This entire time.  You’re good I’ll give you that.  You’re whole, ‘I’m uncomfortable near women’ thing and the way you’re pretending to be flustered every time I’m close to you.  You’re plan was to get me all tongue tied and moony-eyed and possibly try to make me fall in love with you so that whoever is after me gets the impression that we are a couple so that his focus will shift to you.  That way, if he takes you or something, I’ll put myself in harms way to save you, giving him access to me.”  She watched him the entire time noting his placid expression. 

 

He observed her again through squinted eyes, debating on his next move.  She had relaxed again releasing the tension in her muscles, lying back against the chair.

 

“So you’re saying, you would not have helped me?”  He smirked at her, carefully avoiding a portion of her hypothesis. 

 

“I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t need my help.  You’ve faked your death before and outsmarted every criminal mastermind you’ve come up against.  Your brother, eccentric as he is, I’m guessing is pretty high up there on the governmental food chain and can essentially get you whatever you want or need,” she said taking another sip, draining the glass.  “The only reason I can think of for that being your plan is that you’re bored and this isn’t moving fast enough for you.  Am I right?” 

 

“Fast enough?  To what are you referring?” He asked carefully.

 

“The case, of course.  _Solving the puzzle_.  I’m clearly not able to help more because I cannot remember anything useful to you, nothing is turning up anywhere that can help, so you were hoping to speed things a long a bit…bait him.  A woman in love is a dangerous creature,” she said eyeing him up. 

 

She sat up again suddenly then.  “Oh my God, wait!  _I can’t help you because I don’t remember,”_ she said under her breath.  Then looking back at him she said, “You were trying to get closer to me thinking I’d open up to you, trust you enough to share deep dark secrets.”

 

He just smiled in response then got up from his chair.  “Almost.”  He resumed his pacing from earlier.

 

“Well, the joke is on you then, because I’m not holding anything back.  I have no deep dark secrets to share with you.  I told you the other night, I can’t remember what I don’t know,” she said close to exasperation. 

 

He looked over to her, deep in thought, but did not respond.

 

“Hang on,” she said in the midst of pouring out another glass, “what did you mean “almost?”

 

“Okay, yes, I was trying to…get _closer_ to you as you put it.  I assumed you were holding back information and that getting you to trust me would loosen you up to share more information. I realized after the other night that your memories are locked up pretty tight.  I’m guessing you unlocked something this afternoon during your nap, but you very clearly don’t understand it yet, which is why you aren’t tell me,” he said with his hands upraised out in front of him.

 

“Buuuut?” She asked.

 

“But, it was not done to put you in danger, or to move this along any faster,” he continued.

 

The look she was giving him clearly stated she knew he was not quite finished with his confession.  Sighing audibly, he looked away.

 

“Alright, there is an…experiment I’d like to conduct, with your cooperation of course,” he said finally, once again stopping in front of her.

 

She raised her eyebrows in question, but remained silent.

 

“I can see you are confident enough with your educational training to properly diagnose, or decode any of my behaviors.  You seem to pretty fluent in comprehending the art of _“bullshitting”_ as you so colorfully put it earlier.  Simple “ _woo-ing”_ would not work on you, so I’ll come at this from a different angle,” he said, sitting down again, ready to make a deal.

 

“I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know anymore.  Does it seem like something I would willingly agree to?”  She was beginning to get uncomfortable with the way he kept staring at her and his over-eager take on honesty.  Well, at least as honest as Sherlock Holmes was capable of.

 

“Well, I’m banking on your love of education outweighing any reservations,” he said with a calculating smile.

 

“Uh-huh,” she said looking to her hands, “Yeah, I’m just going to go ahead and say no now, ‘cause this is starting to freak me out.”

 

“I want you to teach me about the love found in relationships; the physical part,” he said openly with the eager eyes of a scientist ready to begin collecting data.

 

She blinked several times before reacting.  She first became aware that her mouth was gaping open and she conspicuously closed it, blinked a few more times and then proceeded with caution.

 

“When you say, _physical__ ” she began.

 

“Yes,” he said in a rush, rolling his eyes, “I am talking about sex.”

 

She blinked several more times.  There were no words in her mind to stumble on; it was completely blank. 

 

“I’m sorry, what?  I don’t think I understand you.  Do you mean for me to teach you, the theory of it as a behavior specialist? Or did you want me to…?” She was fully alert now and sitting on her legs, giving her more height.  She was not quite ready to stand yet.  Here, she still had the advantage of ducking away but if she were standing he could easily grab her.

 

“Well, I expect that your behavioral training will be very useful, but I was also thinking you’re a reasonably attractive woman with experience, presently single, and by the state of all your clothes, I’d say it’s been a long time since you’ve been intimate with anyone.  So really, I’d be helping you as much as you’d be helping me.  So what do you think?”  He smiled at her as if this was a perfectly normal and logical conversation to be having.

 

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” she said more to herself.  “Are you expecting an answer right now?” She asked, her face felt incredibly warm and she was finding it difficult to make eye contact.

 

“Why wouldn’t you be able to answer right now?  You’re attracted to me. I know that.  Have you not realized that yet?  It’s really quite obvious,” he said as if that cleared it all up.

 

“Definitely not drunk enough,” Charlotte covered her face with her hands, shook her head, and then uncovered them.

 

“Not a dream then,” she said aloud to herself.  Sherlock observed her through narrowed eyes but remained silent.

 

“Are you going to pass out again?” He asked warily. 

 

“What? No, shut up,” she said putting her hands over eyes again.  “Okay, it’s not as easy as just agreeing to that,” she said eyeing him up.  Before he could speak she held her hand up to stop him and followed up by saying, “I know you don’t understand.  I will help you to better understand the emotion, but I cannot agree to anything physical.”  Again he looked to interrupt her but she cut him off.  “One reason is because I have too much respect for myself to be reduced to, to, to whatever it is you want me to be.  Second, the fact that you asked me that in the first place is proof there is a lot of work to be done on the emotional end of this.  And third_” she stopped to collect her thoughts.

 

“Third?” he prompted her.

 

She looked at him for a moment before answering.

 

“Third, you’re not ready,” she said shaking her head.  Then the rest of her thoughts caught up with her and she became irritated.   “And as far as my clothing, or to be more specific my lack of sexy lingerie, I see absolutely no point in spending tons of money on an item that will be tossed to the floor within ten minutes of the presentation,” she said simply.  “A man isn’t after the underwear, he’s after what’s under that.  So why waste time covering up with expensive and frankly uncomfortable things?”  She stood up then and went to her room to have a ten second freak out.  Then grabbing one of her favorite movies she went back into the living room to find him still staring at the place she had just vacated.

 

“What is that?  What are you doing?” He asked just realizing she was no longer sitting on the floor.

 

“I’m sticking in a movie because I cannot possibly deal with all of that,” she said waving her hand in his direction, “anymore.  Feel free to join me, or not, you could consider it step one in your education about relationships,” she said turning back to the television once again to put the DVD in.

 

“I thought we were going to talk.  That you wanted to ‘ _get to know me better_ ’,” he said distractedly.

 

“Yes, people often talk during movies.  I expect you’ll either have a ton of criticisms about this movie, or a bunch of questions,” she said.

“Do I have to change my clothes for this?” He asked, eying her up.

 

“Do whatever you like, but I’m going to sit all the way over here and be mindlessly entertained for ninety minutes or so,” she grabbed the remote and flopped down in the armchair with her legs hanging off the side.

 

Sherlock did not say anything.  He stood up, taking both his phone and hers from his suit jacket pocket and walked to the back of the apartment, where his room was.  She watched him go and drained another glass of champagne, putting the glass on the end table nearest her.  The familiar warm tingle of a buzz was forming in her limbs and her cheeks felt numb.

 

_Bringing Up Baby_ , with Katharine Hepburn and Carey Grant was one of Charlotte’s favorite movies.  She had not seen it in several years, but had included it with a few others to bring to London with her.  Since he was gone and probably not returning, she turned the lights out in the living room and climbed back into the armchair curling up and selecting the play button. The theme music swelled and she took a moment to consider him.  Admittedly he was an enormous ass, but there was also vulnerability there.  Sure, he approached from the angle of collecting data for research, but essentially he was asking her to be his first.  The thought made her feel equal parts sad and uncomfortable.  If she was being honest, she was also incredibly nervous as well.

 

Yes, she found him attractive and may have considered once or twice what it would be like to kiss him.  There had been a moment the other night.  All either of them would have had to do was lean in.  But the fact remained, he was not anywhere near mentally prepared for any of that and she would not be the one to initiate anything.  She too, was nowhere near mentally prepared.  She was a relationship kind of girl.  She had had friends in college and later that were able to compartmentalize and have “sex-buddies,” but she was always put off by the idea.

 

After her last relationship, she immersed herself in work.  Concentrated on her cases.  Celebrated the milestones of the relationships of her friends, but never stopped long enough to put herself back out there.  She had meant what she said earlier to him, she was here for business.  The Watson’s had chosen her.  She would be with them as long as they required her service and once Sophie was established in primary school, she would go back to America and look for something new.  The thought both saddened and terrified her.  She had no idea what her future held. For the first time in her life, she had no plan.


	14. Disney's Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesson one...

She must have fallen asleep because when she woke, David and Susan were chasing George through the yard encouraging him to find the missing bone. Looking up, she saw that Sherlock was sitting on the floor in front of her leaning his back on her chair, in what appeared to be his pajamas.

 

“You fell asleep,” he said turning to frown at her.  “I thought you wanted to talk.”

 

“I’m up.  I’m up. I wasn’t sure if you were going to come back, the day caught up to me and I just closed my eyes for a bit.” Charlotte sat up carefully, still groggy.  She was rubbing her eyes when she felt something against her leg.  Looking down she realized he was passing her a glass.

 

“Thanks,” she said, taking a couple of sips and sliding down on the floor next to him.  She leaned her back against the armchair, stretched out her legs and pointed her toes to release the tension, immediately bringing her legs back up to her chest.

 

“You’re in that position often,” he observed out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s comfortable,” she said still trying to wake up.

“You’re in a near constant state of fight or flight.  Do you know why?”  He asked, turning his body to face her.

 

“Am. Not,” she said yawning.  Without saying a word he reached over touched her side and she jumped a few inches from the ground sloshing some of her drink.

 

“You ruined my yawn.  Do you know how unsatisfying it is to not complete a yawn?” She asked elbowing him.

 

“I rest my case,” he said looking over at her smugly.

 

“You can be really irritating, you know,” she said glaring at him. When he looked at her pointedly, she answered his question.  “I suppose it has to do with all that’s been going on lately.  I also haven’t been sleeping well.  I’m not really paying attention to how I’m sitting,” she said trying not to move.  She felt the warmth of his body he was so close.  She kept her eyes trained on the screen and her voice neutral.

 

“You sleep like that too,” he said looking back to the television screen.

 

“Is that right?” She asked taking another sip of the champagne. He made no comment, just a nod of the head.

 

“Wait, how would you know?” She immediately turned to look at him.

“Were you not just sleeping?” He barely glanced at her but she could detect a faint smile on his face as he drank a dark amber liquid from a different glass.

 

“I’ve never seen this movie.  I don’t really like movies.  They are way too predictable.  It’s always the same formula.  There’s a chance meeting, conflict, and then a happy ending.  What is the appeal of that?  It’s completely unrealistic,” he looked over to see Charlotte gaping at him.  “I really mean it though, what is the appeal?”

 

She took another sip and put the glass down between the two of them, stretched her legs and wrapped her sweater closer to her, thinking.

 

“I’m happy to answer your questions tonight, but you’ve got to answer some of mine too.  Starting with, _what_ are you drinking?” She pointed to the glass, curious because she had not seen anything in the cabinets that color.

 

He held up a half empty glass, took a sip and lowered it back to the ground near hers.

“Whiskey,” he said, looking back at her expectantly.

 

“ _Really?_  Huh.  I would never have guessed you to be a whiskey man.  Brandy, yes, Scotch, maybe, but whiskey? It’s so…butch,” she said shrugging her shoulders.  Her brain was working a little slower now because of the champagne, but she had had a full stomach before drinking, so she was not tipsy, just dulled.  “Hang on, you said you don’t drink. Where did the whiskey come from?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

He grinned widely at that and looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Mrs. Hudson has a wide array of choices in her flat.”

 

“Does she have Vodka?” Charlotte asked, surprising Sherlock.

“Yes,” he replied, a faint trace of smile on his lips.

“Excellent,” she said looking back at the television.

“Do you want me to go and get it?” He asked with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Why, because you figured out I’m most amorous when I’m drinking? Hoping I’ll change my mind?”  She tried to not roll her eyes when his face fell at her assessment of his suggestion.

 

“I meant nothing by it.  But yes, you are quite “ _handsy”_ when you’re intoxicated,” he smiled at whatever memory was playing in his mind. She could only assume it was from the other night when she had accidently combined the alcohol with the muscle relaxer.

 

“That’s not fair, I was under the influence of two substances that evening,” she said crossing her arms tighter around her, pulling her legs back up to her chin. “And, you smelled good.  Familiar.  Whatever, just shut up and watch the movie.”

 

Sherlock picked up his glass again and drained it.  He settled back against the chair and Charlotte noticed he was about an inch closer to her now.

“So, the appeal?” He asked looking over at her.  His eyes were glassy and his pupils were dilated.

 

“What?” She asked, having lost her train of thought for a moment looking at his eyes. “Oh right.  The movie! Well, I suppose the appeal is somewhere in the promise,” she said watching the television as Carey Grant repeatedly left the dinner table to follow George around the house as the dinner guests looked on in incredulous silence and Katharine Hepburn’s character looked on with complete adoration.

 

“The promise?” He asked watching her watch the television seeing something he clearly did not.

 

“Okay, look at this scene for a minute. What do you see?”  Charlotte paused the movie just as the character David sat back at the table. “And don’t just tell me the physical objects you see, what can you infer about this scene?” She looked over at him, leaning away from him a little, to better see him, a move that did not go unnoticed by Sherlock. She picked up her glass and continued sipping the bubbly liquid until it was almost gone.  She put the glass off to the other side.

 

“The David character is obsessed with an artifact that was stolen by that dog in the corner there, though if it was so important I cannot understand why he would have left it laying out where a dog could take it.  The other dinner guests are seeing confirmation of what the character Susan told them earlier: that he is mentally unstable. The insipid character Susan is making a fool of herself fawning over a man who has no interest in her and is in fact engaged to a very sensible woman.”  He looked back at Charlotte pleased with his assessment.

 

She smiled back at him and shook her head.  “Okay, good,” she said finally.

 

“Really? Because that makes no sense at all to me,” he leaned closer to her unaware of his actions.  She was focused on the screen and not looking at him.

 

“Um, well, on the surface you’ve described the scene.  But underneath all of that is what I’m talking about. The promise.  The promise of a love that will stand the test of time, of a different life, a better life, companionship; in short, all of the things _you_ tend to avoid,” she said, playfully jabbing his arm.  The look he was giving her was a more intense version of his “bakery-eyes” if she had to categorize this one, it might be something akin to “bedroom-eyes.” She cleared her throat and went back to looking at the screen wishing there were more champagne or something to distract her.

 

He screwed his face up in concentration as he considered what she said. “Hmm, who is after the promise?” He leaned in again and was officially pressed against her. Shoulder to shoulder. Hip to hip.

 

“I suspect the writers wrote their characters to all want at least one of those things.  And as a viewer, well, I suppose I am watching and hoping they all receive that,” she said lying her head back against the seats cushion trying to relax again getting lost again in the idea of the promise.

 

“And what about the viewer who has seen it more than once and already knows the ending?” He asked.

 

“Well, it’s why I read _Pride and Prejudice_ every winter.  I know the ending.  I’ve travelled with them each moment.  The awkward meeting, the aversion and conflict, then the conflict resolution and voila! You get your happy ending.  It gives people a small bit of hope knowing that somebody somewhere at some time lived this story in some way and it just might happen to them too.  We might all just get the happy ending we were promised.” Charlotte could feel her face blushing and was grateful that the lights were still out with only the glow of the black and white movie lighting the space.

 

“Who would make a promise like that?” He asked perplexed again.

 

“Alright, let me put it this way.  What do you think Sophie sees in her imagination when you pick her up and dance with her?” She asked turning her head slightly to look at him, again surprised at his proximity. 

 

“I don’t understand what you mean by that.” He said turning back.

“She has watched every Disney princess movie ever made.  In her young mind, she sees you as the prince and herself as the princess.  At her age she doesn’t know anything about romantic love, she just knows you’re the handsome man in her life who loves her and loves to dance,” she said simply turning back to the television. 

 

“Handsome, huh?” He asked nudging her with his elbow.

“Shut up and watch the movie,” she said pressing play again.

 

“Anyway, did that answer your question?” Charlotte turned a little to see his whole face only inches from her own.

 

“Yes, I think I am getting the general idea of it,” he said. He turned back to the screen with concentration.  He would occasionally smile but for the most part he seemed to be studying.

 

Charlotte relaxed back against the chair again only to discover it really was not comfortable or relaxing. Her butt had become numb from sitting too long and her back was beginning to ache.  She started to move but Sherlock held out a hand to help her up.

 

“Oh, thanks, I’m just too stiff on the floor,” she said not knowing exactly what she had in mind.

 

Sherlock jumped up and grabbed all the couch cushions in addition to the pillows from before. He was essentially reconstructing the fort from earlier.  He looked up with a genuine smile on his face grabbed her hands and guided her down again to get comfortable.  She had to admit it was far more comfortable this way, but she was nervous about being too comfortable in an atmosphere so heavily charged as it was.

 

“How was that?” He asked.  She burst out laughing realizing it was all an act of calculated chivalry and not a natural behavior for him.

“You’re getting it, now it just needs to become a legitimate action and not one you’re trying to receive credit for,” she said.

 

He scowled at her but went back to watching the movie.  With the cushions and pillows surrounding her, the alcohol, plus the warmth of another human body next to her, she was beginning to feel sleepy again.

 

“I thought I was the one who was supposed to be socially challenged. Are you falling asleep again?” He was watching her intently.

 

“Nope, no, I’m awake.  I _am_ awake.  I just have to wake up first.  You’re just so warm and comfortable, I mean I am too comfortable, shut up,  I’m sleepy,” she said sitting up a little straighter, again leaning on the back of the chair for support.  Sherlock was next to her lying on a pillow and looking up at her laughing.

 

“Well, what do you want to know?” He asked her, picking up the bottle of whiskey he must have stored on the other side of the chair.  In addition he passed her a glass of water.

 

Yawning into her hands and rubbing her eyes she noted that it was only 9:30pm and rolled her eyes.  She felt like the oldest thirty-seven year old at times.

 

“Thanks,” she said taking a huge gulp and immediately gasping.  “Oh, that wasn’t very nice Mr. Holmes. I thought you said the vodka was downstairs.  How’d it get up here?  You haven’t left my side once.”

 

“I told you, I know what you like,” he said simply shooting back the whiskey in his own glass.

“This is not going to end well,” she mumbled to herself.

“Whasthat?” He asked, beginning to slur his words.  His eyes were very glazed at this point and he moved in closer, purposefully making contact with her again.

“Nothing, why are you invading my personal space?” She asked, unable to find a more diplomatic way of stating the obvious.

 

“Well, I like the way I feel when I’m next to you,” he looked confused then said, “no, I mean, I like the way you feel when I’m next to you, no wait.” He put a hand to his head, presumably to pull the correct words from his brain. “I feel more relaxed when I’m resting next to you than I do alone.  I sleep better.”

“You’ve only slept next to me once,” she said staring off into space.

“Twice, actually.  What’s with the marbles?” He asked her with an innocent expression on his face.

 

“Oh my god, I knew it! I knew I didn’t recover myself with the blanket last night, what the hell?” She attempted to scoot away from him, but he grabbed her arm first.

“Oh relax, you’re safe. According to you, I’m not ready yet. Though I can’t possibly understand how you would know what I am and what I’m not ready for,” he said letting her go.

“I just know,” she said draining the rest of the vodka.  She was aware that mixing the two drinks would probably make for an ugly morning tomorrow, but she’d worry about it later.

 

“Would you like another?” He asked, and she handed him her glass for another shot of vodka.

“Okay,” she said, swirling the contents of her glass. “So tell me about becoming a detective. When did you realize you were good at it and that you would eventually want to do this for a living? Oh, and also, was there anything else you had planned on doing before going this route?”  She asked.

 

He launched into a story about the early games he and Mycroft would play, deducing the cause and effect of certain items and artifacts they found in their travels.  He told her of the first case where he was certain the police were incompetent on and how frustrating it was that no one would listen to him because he was just a child. With a certain amount of pride he told her how vindicating it had been solving that murder twenty years later.  He spoke of boarding school and how he used his detective skills to avoid beatings from the bullies and older boys.  With hesitation he commented on later using his detective skills as currency for drugs.

 

Charlotte had been in the field long enough to assume that an all male boarding school plus a drug addiction would have led to certain sexual situations. Carefully avoiding this topic of conversation, she switched tactics.

 

“Okay, so then can I ask you something?” She said eventually. He only responded with a pained look acknowledging her question.

 

“In all that time, did you figure out why you turned to drugs and why it is still your fallback?  What is or are the triggers that send you back to that life?”  She was looking at the television, but her brain had turned it off and went into work mode. Charlotte was pretty sure she knew the answers, but was interested in seeing if he was able to admit to anything himself.

 

The relief in his face broke her heart.  He seemed to have been expecting a completely different question because he did not answer her right away.

 

“I’m different; smarter than anyone else,” he moved away from her and stared at his hands. “My teachers didn’t know what to do with me and the other children resented me.  Those that didn’t outright hate me were just afraid of me.  There weren’t services for kids like me back then,” he finished giving Charlotte a sad smile.

 

“And now?” She asked him, fully looking at him.

“Well, sometimes there is a case that can greatly benefit from inside information. That means going under cover and assuming the role of a homeless junkie,” he turned away taking a deep breath.  “And…then there are times when I crave the immediate escape…from being me for a while.” He turned to look at her again searching her face for some hint as to what she was thinking, or how much she was judging him.

 

Charlotte took a moment to consider his words.  She raised her glass in his direction and tipped her head back draining it.  Leaning her head on his shoulder this time, she said simply, “Yeah, I can understand that.”

 

He was not uncomfortable with her closeness, but he was surprised that she was the one who sought him out this time.  He relaxed against the back of the chair again and appreciated the warmth and heaviness of her body.  It forced him to stay still, to relax. This was probably why he was able to rest when he slept next to her.  Afraid to wake her and be discovered, he was forced to be still.

 

“I see the world as it presents itself to me.  I take it at face value.  When my instincts kick in and tell me something is wrong I can force myself to focus on all of the little details.  You don’t have instincts though, do you?” Charlotte asked looking up at him. “At least not the way I have them. To you, everything is of the highest alert.  Information is constantly being collected in your brain and you can’t help but see every detail, whether you want to or not. Right?” She went back to looking at the television but remained propped against his form with her head on his shoulder.

 

“Something like that,” he said with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

 

When the movie was over, Charlotte sighed with content and said, “They just don’t make them like that anymore.”

“Well, when Technicolor was invented, why would they have gone back?” He asked perplexed.

 

“No, I mean the men, and the story line.  Times are so different now.  And a lot of it is for the better, of course.  But sometimes a girl just needs some good old fashioned 1930’s romance.”  She sighed then and began getting up.

 

He watched her quietly and finished his own drink.

 

“Charlotte, can I sleep next to you tonight?” He asked softly.  Had she not taken a moment for the room to stop spinning she might not have heard him.

 

“I’d tell you no, but since you’ve evidently been sneaking into my room to do it anyway, sure.  Though I appreciate you asking.”

 

That night, they slept side by side.  As far as she could tell, they stayed on their own respective sides of the bed and no touching had taken place.  She admitted to herself though, it was nice having someone asleep next to her. And once again she awoke to the sound of the violin has he attempted to fix his third finger over-extension problem.


	15. Ready or Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte does a mean thing but in an oh so delicious way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was beautiful out today so I got to write outdoors. I wrote a lot, but this will be it until Thursday.

The next few days passed without incident; each of them going about their business.  One morning, she came into the living room to find a random man sitting in the wooden chair Sherlock had explained was for clients.  The man was a silver fox, in Charlotte’s opinion.  He had an olive complexion with silver strands mixed in with what at one point must have been dark brown hair.  He had broad shoulders and looked more put together than any of the clients she had seen so far during her stay at Baker Street. Here was a man who could drink whiskey _all_ night long. _Damn_ , she thought.

 

“Oh, hi! I didn’t know there was a client here. Does Sherlock know you’re here?” She asked looking back down the hall.

 

“Yeah, he knows I’m here, but I’m not a client,” he said getting up and walking over to her extending his hand.  “You must be Charlotte,” he said smiling.

 

For a Brit he had perfect straight white teeth.  From what she could tell, he was not wearing a wedding band and she could feel her pulse quicken.  “Yes, I’m sorry, who are you?” She asked, blushing slightly.

 

“Charlotte, don’t waste you’re time.  This is Detective Inspector Gary Lestrade,” Sherlock had walked in wearing a sheet and an arrogant expression on his face.  “And he’s married,” he sat heavily on his leather chair staring expectantly at her.

 

“It’s Greg, and me and the wife are separated again,” Lestrade said shooting a nasty look at Sherlock and letting go of Charlotte’s hand. He looked back at her trying to assess the nature of her relationship with Sherlock; both having come from the same area of the apartment and Sherlock wearing a sheet was highly suggestive.  He seemed to have formed his own opinion and walked back to the chair he had recently vacated without a further glance to Charlotte.

“It’s nice to meet you Greg,” she said somewhat deflated, giving Sherlock an irritated and confused look.  He was fully dressed thirty minutes ago.

 

Sherlock seemed to be enjoying the look he was receiving from both of them. “Charlotte, we’ll have some tea, now, and biscuits if we have them and if we don’t check in Mrs. Hudson’s flat,” he said dismissively.

“Get off your lazy ass and get it yourself nerd, I’m going out with Molly today,” she said peeking out from the kitchen.  Lestrade bit back a laugh and Sherlock shot him a look of distain before storming into the kitchen.

 

He stalked towards her with a new expression on his face. She could not quite put a name to it just yet, but it looked heated with a mix of something else. He backed her into the counter with his tall form and glowered down at her.  His hands were in the sheet holding it to him and she wondered if they had been free if he would have dared to grab her again like he had in the shop last week.  She dropped the grin from her face and looked defiantly at him, properly pissed off.

 

“What do you think you’re doing? Where are you going?” he whispered to her.

“I’ve just told you. _Out. With. Molly,”_ she said, not bothering to whisper.  She laid both of her hands on the counter behind her. Her body language clearly communicating there would be no _fight or flight_ in this situation.  She was standing her ground this time.  This would not be a repeat of last week.

 

“You’re not supposed to leave the house, or have you forgotten that _very_ basic direction?” He asked, sneering at her.

 

He continued to glare at her, but taking in her defiant smile, his expression was changing into one of discomfort.  It seemed to have just occurred to him the position he was currently in.  The mischievous look she was giving him was becoming unnerving. 

“Remember the other night, when you asked me how I knew you weren’t ready,” she said finally whispering.

 

He just nodded his head once and glanced nervously back towards the living room. A sudden movement brought his attention swiftly back.  She had seated herself on top of the counter. Grinning, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him towards her.  The color had drained from his face as all thoughts of Lestrade went out the window.  His breath caught when she squeezed tighter so that all that separated them were a few layers of fabric.  Though his eyes were initially wide with shock, his pupils began to dilate.

 

“Would you like me to show you, right here and now, how I know you’re not ready?” She brought her hands up to the top of his sheet and carefully trailed her fingers against his collarbone leaving a trail of goosebumps.

 

“Now, is…uh…probably not the best time for this,” he said in a deeper voice than usual.  He began to shift his feet, but realized too late it would cause a delicious amount of friction and he immediately froze, tension building.

“Shh,” she said, shifting her body ever so slightly causing his breath to hitch. She wrapped her fingers in his hair, tugging gently.

 

He closed his eyes reluctantly.  Watching his expression she experimented with flexing and releasing her leg muscles slow, but rhythmically, pulling him in and gently releasing him. After the third pull in, he did not pull back when she released the tension.  He was not actively pushing against her, but then he did not lean back as he had been doing before.  When she did not pull him back in, breaking the rhythm, a quiet groan escaped his mouth betraying him.  His eyes snapped open searching her face with surprise. Wrapping her fingers around the sheet once more she brought his ear down towards her lips.

 

“Feel that?” She asked, squeezing tighter again eliciting a sigh from him followed by a shiver the hot breath in his ear caused.   “Can you feel how your brain finally took a back seat and let your body guide you?” She shifted her position again causing additional friction.  “Are you feeling a swooping sensation in the pit of your stomach?”  She could feel his head drop to her shoulder after nodding in acknowledgement.  He exhaled deeply against her and began raising his head, face turned towards her neck.  His lips trailed a path up her neck and she unintentionally squeezed tighter. As his lips got closer to hers, she carefully pushed him back to see the frustrated then immediately stunned expression on his face.

 

“Your brain’s taking over now, right?” She did not wait for his answer before saying, “ _That_ is why you’re not ready.  When your desire outweighs logic and reason; that is when you will be ready,” she said stroking his cheek and relaxing her grip on him.

 

His cheeks flushed and he was unable to make eye contact, but he did not move away from her.  She ran her fingers through his hair once more and then wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing him to look at her.

 

“Now, as for your macho display two minutes ago, demanding to know where I was going and then forbidding I leave at all…don’t ever forget,” she pulled his hips to her once more, both of them painfully aware of what this contact was doing to him on both a physical and emotional level, “that you do not tell me what to do, or threaten me in any way.  I would have thought you learned that lesson last week.  I know I’ve still got a bruise on my arm” she said more as an after thought. “Now,” she said, letting him go and gently pushing him back so she could jump back to the floor, “I will have my phone, and I will check in every now and again.  I’ll be back around four.  Chicken for dinner, I think.  See you then,” she said to his profile.

 

“Bye Greg, it was lovely to meet you,” she said walking out of the apartment door.  Once it was closed, she leaned against it to catch her breath.  Her legs were feeling rubbery and her pulse was erratic. She took a deep breath to steady herself, feeling guilty about her little demonstration, but also a little scared at what it had done to her.  Fortunately, Sherlock was not so experienced with her reactions yet to know how unbelievably hot that moment was.  She needed to be more careful: this was a very dangerous game. 

 

She choked a giggle back at the sheer nerve she displayed. She had never in her life been able to do something so ballsy.  She knew she never would get the chance again either.  There was no way in hell Sherlock would ever put himself in that position again and she was not so sure she would be able to keep a level head.

 

Sherlock stayed in the kitchen for five more minutes, before walking out, telling Lestrade to go away and walking back to his room.


	16. Gorgeous in Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The person after Charlotte leaves a little present for her in the costume shop.

Molly had been kind enough to accompany Charlotte on several errands that day. There were a few party favors that still needed to be picked up not to mention her gown and Sherlock’s outfit for the party.  She also needed to get a new pair of Spanx to make the dress more comfortable. Charlotte enjoyed being in Molly’s company because it gave her plenty of time to think.  Molly was more than happy to chatter along with minimal encouragement from Charlotte to continue.  Most of the day had been spent listening to Molly talk about Tom. Charlotte guessed Molly was starved for female companionship and wondered why Mary had never befriended her.

 

The incident earlier had Charlotte feeling out of sorts.  She could not tell if it was because of his reaction to her or her reaction to him.  Her mind kept returning to the exact moment it stopped being a game, the moment when proving a point to him was the farthest thing from her mind. It was not until her phone chimed in the tailor’s that she became alert.  Standing there in her party gown she saw herself in the mirror and realized how rosy her cheeks had become.  Grateful for a distraction from her own thoughts, she stepped down to the floor and grabbed the phone from her bag.

 

**Mary**

**Hi Char! Sherlock asked me to check in with you.**

_Hi Mary, I’m fine.  Still with Molly and picking up our costumes for Saturday.  Do you need me to grab anything while I’m out?_

**Mary**

**Nope. All is well! I’ll bring Sophie round tomorrow morning.**

As Charlotte returned the phone to her bag it chimed once more. Looking at the screen display she saw that the number was blocked.  She felt her stomach tense and then immediately drop.  She looked up to be sure Molly was still on the other side of the store and that no one else was around her.

 

YOU’RE GORGEOUS IN GREEN BUT I’D RATHER SEE YOU IN RED.

BLOOD RED.

 

Her blood ran cold and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Stupidly she kept turning on the spot to see where the person was.  She saw no one but Molly and the seamstress.  When she caught sight of herself in the mirror now she was white as a sheet.  She collapsed back on the pedestal feeling overwhelmed and dizzy.  The familiar black dots were back clouding her vision. Through them she could see Molly running towards her.

 

“Charlotte?” Molly asked hesitantly. 

“What? Oh, Molly, hey I’m fine, I’m fine.  Just got dizzy for a minute.  Must the heat from the lights.  Let me, uh, let me just get this off and, and, can you grab Sherlock’s suit please?  I’m going to, uh, change,” she said with shaking hands and dropped her phone in her bag. Getting up slowly, she grabbed her bag and went back into the changing room.  She sat down once more, closed her eyes and counted to three. Repeatedly. When she could feel her blood pressure return to normal, she reached for her phone to send a message to Sherlock.

 

_He’s here.  I don’t know where exactly, but he could see me.  What do I do?_

 

She sat there for a spell and waited for him to text back. The dress plus the Spanx were uncomfortably digging into her sides. When there was no immediate answer, she began to take her gown off.  She tugged off the Spanx and her body felt immediately relieved. She slipped back into her jeans and as she reached for her baggie cream colored sweater, she felt a cold draft on her back.  Her skin tingled and itched after being released from the tight bindings of her Spanx. Absent-mindedly she scratched the itchy place and gasped when it stung in pain.  She moved towards the mirror in the little room not quite sure what she was seeing.

 

“What the hell?’ She asked as she found the source of the sting. The long pink scar she had acquired months ago looked red and irritated and lifting her hair out of the way, she saw the blood.  It was a fine trickle, but as the fresh air hit the wound the worse it began to sting. She rubbed at it and saw it was not a deep cut but more blood flowed after she touched it suggesting more than one puncture.  A band aide would fix it right up.  The seamstress must have left a needle or two in the bodice. She grabbed a tissue to clean herself up and went to hang the dress and to find the offending needles.

 

As she searched through the seams of the bodice what she found turned her already cold blood to ice.  Numb with fear and eyes bigger than saucers, she walked over to grab another tissue from the box.  She went back to the dress, now on the floor bringing her phone with her.  Sitting with a thud, she laid out the bodice so that the light would better reveal her discovery. 

 

She took a picture of the dress and attached it in a text to Sherlock with the message:

_I need you now._


	17. God Bless Spanx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte finds a new reason to be grateful to the creator of Spanx.

To keep Molly busy Charlotte told her she was still feeling dizzy and then asked her to run to the pharmacy to get her a ginger ale and some band aides. Molly looked puzzled at the last request, but said she would be back in ten minutes and for Charlotte not to move.   Five minutes after she left, the curtain was yanked back and the small room was suddenly filled with people. 

 

Sherlock looked once at the gown on the floor then went to kneel in front of Charlotte who was sitting in the corner hugging her knees.  She was still very pale and visibly shaken.

“You’re okay.  Stand up for me,” he said peeling her hands away from her knees and slowly standing, he pulled her up. 

“Hi, yeah I’m okay. I’m fine I just,” she said looking up at him shaking her head.  When she did, his attention shifted from her eyes to the reflection of her back in the mirror. He pulled her towards him with one hand and with the other lifted her hair to expose the line of thin cuts made along her back. 

 

“I’m fine.  Really, it’s not as bad as it looks.  I didn’t want to stain my sweater,” she said pushing against his chest with her hands.

“Stop moving,” he said, grabbing a tissue, to wipe the fresh trail of blood that had begun to flow due the movement her skin made as she stood. “There are…twelve, no thirteen incisions here.  John, I think you will find thirteen razor blades,” he began.

 

“Twenty-six,” Charlotte said, into his chest.  She could feel his arms tense around her and his breath catch.

“Your picture only showed thirteen,” he said shifting her back to look her in the eyes.

 

“She’s right, Sherlock there are thirteen more on the other side of the dress,” John said looking back at him through the reflection.

 

Sherlock shifted her to his other side and looked at the incisions made there.

“I could only fit the one side in the frame.  I couldn’t figure out the zoom, my fingers were shaking and_” her thought trailing off as wiped up the blood on the other side.

“Charlotte what else were you wearing with the dress?  These should have been much worse,” he said pulling her away from him.

“That,” she said pointing to the nude colored Spanx she had removed earlier not noticing the blood all over the back until she had found the razor blades. "God bless Spanx," she murmured under her breath.

 

Sherlock sat her on the chair, put his coat on her and stormed out of the dressing room presumably to harass the seamstress.  John moved over to her taking her hands and her pulse.

 

“Charlotte, are you alright?” He asked, kneeling in front of her.

“What? Yes, of course. I’m fine, really. I know I look pale and all, but really I’m fine,” she said. “I promise.  I just thought it would be better for you to know about this now, instead of waiting until later.  Is Molly back?  I asked her to bring back band aides.  I’d really like to have my sweater on. I’m getting blood all over his coat,” she said absently.

 

“Don’t worry about that, he’s got several in various locations,” John said smirking.

 

“What happened? I was only gone for ten minutes!” Molly said coming into the room. Taking in the scene, Molly put it all together.  “I’m glad I got rubbing alcohol too.  Come on Charlotte, I’ll clean you up.  John, can you wait outside, please?  Sherlock is making the seamstress cry,” she said taking the supplies out of the bag.

 

“I’m fine Molly, really.  It looks gross, but it’s fine.  I can do it on my own,” Charlotte said leaning over to reach for the bandages.

“Please, I do post-mortems, I’ve seen worse.  Just shut up and let me clean this up,” she said.

 

Ten minutes later, Charlotte was all cleaned up and bandaged with her sweater back on and Sherlock’s coat draped over her arm.  Lestrade gave her a wink and sidled up to Molly to have a chat, glancing at Charlotte every now and then.

 

Charlotte began to feel like a goldfish.  Everyone kept staring at her without actually engaging her in conversation.  In reality she had realized it was only a matter of time before this _person_ who was after her did something to hurt her. Molly, sensing her discomfort, came over to her.  Charlotte leaned over, “Can you please take me home now?” she whispered.

 

Molly raised her eyebrows at that but nodded her head and started towards the exit indicating to John she was leaving with Charlotte.  John nodded his head and went back to watching the surveillance tape with Sherlock and Lestrade.


	18. A Lost Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly lends an ear.

In the taxi, Charlotte tried to get Molly to help her with the rest of the list of things she still needed to do for the party.  When Molly refused to budge, Charlotte sat back and stared out the window.

 

“I’m really fine.  It could have been worse, but it wasn’t,” she said turning to Molly after a few moments.

“How long have you been receiving threats?” She asked.

“I’m not really sure, honestly.  The timeline is really confusing to me.  This was only the second message I’ve received and seen, but I evidently have been receiving them for over a month now.  Sophie has been erasing them to protect me,” Charlotte sounded defeated.

 

Molly came up to the apartment with Charlotte and made a pot of tea. They sat and chatted for a while. When Molly was caught up she started looking through the photos of the crime scene.  Charlotte told Molly about her dream from the other day and shared her fears with her.  It turned out Molly was a really great listener.  She reminded Charlotte of her sister and she told her as much.

 

“Tell me about her Charlotte,” Molly had put all of the photographs back in the folder and laid it on the table between them.

 

“She was awesome,” Charlotte said smiling.  “She was the wild child.  I was the good one, always doing what I could to please everyone. Anna was brilliant, but troubled, you know?  She and I used to speak in our own language. Well, she would make up different languages; I would just try to keep up.  She learned everything so fast.”  Charlotte smiled sadly.

 

“What happened to her?”  Molly refreshed Charlotte’s teacup waiting for her to continue.

 

“When she was fifteen, she ran away from home with a friend she met in high school. I was only nine, so I was in a different school.  I only met her friend once, but I remember they would be on the phone all the time. I was so jealous. She started acting really distant during the fall break.  She was moodier and had no time for me anymore.  My mom would fight with her constantly saying her friend was acting as a bad influence on her.  It didn't matter.  She had been unhappy for a long time.”  Charlotte took a sip of tea then sat back with a wince, forgetting the little cuts on her back and sides.

 

“One morning I got up early.  I’d heard whispering in the hall and when I went to look out my door, I saw Anna and her friend sneaking down the stairs.  Before I could say anything, her friend waved her finger at me threatening me not to make a sound,” Charlotte trailed off eyes wide trying to see straight into the past.

 

“Charlotte, what is it?”  Molly sat up and moved over to the other woman.

“I just realized something,” she said staring into the other room. 

"What?" Molly asked.

 

"Oh, no, nothing, never mind, just my mind playing tricks on me again," she said, still far away.

Molly did not betray any emotion she might have been feeling.  She waited patiently for Charlotte to continue.  

She felt an ache on her neck and realized she was rubbing the charm of her necklace back and forth; the chain chaffed her skin. 

 

“What happened after that day?” Molly asked her, taking her hands so that Charlotte would not keep irritating her skin.

“What? Oh, nothing, she just left. After the first year, my mother stopped staying up late waiting for her to come home.  When I was ten, she gave me this,” she said, fingering the necklace again.  “It belonged to Anna,” she shrugged her shoulders.  “My mom said she had left it behind when she ran away.  I knew Anna would never come back.”

 

“Have you ever tried to find her?” She asked, hopeful.

“Once, but there was no trace.  She just…vanished.”

“Do you think she is still alive?” Molly asked, searching Charlotte’s face. All that Charlotte could do was shake her head. 

“Honestly, no.  I’ve seen enough in my years in this field to know she either got into drugs or prostitution. There’s no way to know for sure, of course, but I just feel it.”

 

“Where was your dad during all of this?” She asked.

“Oh, he died in when we were really little.  Car accident,” she said.

“My mom died when I was sixteen.  I lived with my best friend’s family until we left for college together,” Charlotte shrugged her shoulders, trying to escape the darkness threatening to pull her under.

 

Molly held onto Charlotte’s hand and sat quietly.

 

“You know, I became a behavior specialist because of her, Anna I mean.  I wanted to make a difference.  I didn’t want someone else to go through this,” she smiled sadly.  When a yawn slipped out she did not fight Molly when she told her to take a nap.  Molly stayed until Charlotte fell asleep; texted Sherlock then went back to the lab.

 

An hour later Charlotte woke up feeling like she was still in the middle of a dream.  Her actions felt slowed, as if she were swimming.  She stumbled out of her room and into the bathroom.  She splashed her face with cold water a few times and then stared hard at herself in the mirror.  Not able to force her memory any farther along she gave up and walked into the living room. 

 

Sherlock was sitting in his leather chair with his hands under his chin staring into the room.  He had no idea she had come into the room.  She went to the kitchen, grabbed a banana and ate it at the counter.  Her thoughts wandered to the incident that had happened there this morning and she was amazed by how much longer ago it seemed. When Sherlock came out of his trance she would have to apologize to him.  It would be awkward as hell, but it was necessary.

 

She went back to the living room and lay on the couch on the other side of the room.  Lying flat was the only comfortable position.  Though tiny in size, the cuts on her side had begun to sting each time she bent or twisted her torso.  Staring at the ceiling she tried to remember the night Brooks died.  If Sherlock believed the connection was there, she was missing something obvious.  Wincing, she raised her hands to her ears and squeezed hard. She closed her eyes in concentration trying to get back in that moment.

 

She remembered getting out of the car and going up to the house where Nancy was sitting on the porch, holding her injured arm.  She remembered Nancy crying and collapsing, pulling Charlotte down and painfully hitting the ground with her.  Charlotte remembered getting up slowly and how the black spots were on the periphery of her vision.  She then remembered how she was counting to calm herself down. She saw clearly the path she had taken to get through the house.  Seeing little Abby, with her head on her arms, looking as if she were asleep. Charlotte saw herself checking for the little girls pulse and not finding it.  Her hands were shaking badly at that point.  She remembered feeling out of breath by the time she got to the top of the steps with a painful stitch in her side. She must have been hyperventilating.  The black spots were threatening to completely block her from seeing. 

 

For the first time she remembered stopping at the top of the steps to close her eyes for a minute and catch her breath.  Then finally, Brooks.  She saw him in the pool of blood and heard his ragged breathing. Heard the wet gurgling sound his breath made coming out of his lungs.  That was something she had missed from before.  One thought led to another to another until she saw it. Her eyes snapped open and she exhaled all the air she must have been holding in her lungs.

 

She popped up and sat on the edge of the couch.  Her sudden movements brought Sherlock out of his trance.  He watched her carefully as she went through the file with the crime scene photos. When she saw confirmation, she approached the armchair across from his leather chair.

 

 “Where was the knife?” She asked in a quiet voice, smiling at finally remembering.  He smiled at her.

 

“Where indeed,” he said standing up and grabbing both his coat and hers. “Come on, we’re going out.”  He threw her coat to her and walked out of the room.


	19. Fish-N-Chips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte and Sherlock put their acting abilities to the test when they must put on a very accurate performance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beginning to feel these Characters are taking this story in their own direction at this point...

Thirty minutes later she was sitting in a Fish-N-Chips shop.

“Why are we here, I am not even remotely interested in eating right now,” Charlotte said with a slight whine to her voice.  She felt so over-stimulated having remembered more about the night that was supposed to connect all the dots.  “Shouldn’t we be doing something productive?  Shouldn’t you be using your superpowers to help me figure everything else out?”

 

“My what?” He asked, looking at her for the first time since they sat down.

“I don’t know, your x-ray vision, or psychic powers; Jed-I mind tricks! No? How about your spidey-senses? Are they tingling?” She wiggled her fingers in his face for effect.

 

“I don’t know what that means,” he said leaning away from her dancing fingers.  “Do you ever make sense?” He looked at her as if she was sitting there eating glue.

“Ugh, forget it.  It’s exhausting talking to you,” she said dropping her head to her arms.  After giving her another skeptical look, he went back to watching the restaurant.

 

“We are waiting,” he said cryptically.

“Oh come on, can’t you do this on your own?  I’m safe in the apartment alone, right?  Why did I have to come with you?”  She picked her head up to glare at him.

“If you think I’m leaving you alone again after today, you’re seriously mistaken.  And this is not just me acting like a tough macho guy,” he said as an afterthought.

 

“Oh, Sherlock,” she groaned into her arm. She looked up and squinted her eyes at him, took two deep breaths and said “I am so sorry for what I did this morning. It was really cruel of me and I’m not a cruel person, that really wasn’t me,” she stopped there not really knowing what to say.

 

He looked at her carefully but said nothing.  A few more minutes passed in silence.  She was feeling more and more awkward and was about to get up to get a soda, just for something to do when he finally broke the tension by telling her to sit next to him on his side of the table. She took in his posture and facial expression and realized he was on high alert for something. She slowly got up and slid into the seat next to him.

 

“Happy now?” She asked.

“Not just yet, no,” he responded not looking back at her.

“You’re waiting for something to happen,” she said quietly to him.

“It will happen soon, we just need to get into position for it, are you doing alright?” He asked lightly placing his hand on her back.

“I’m sore and I feel like all of my senses are super sensitive and I want to_,” she stopped speaking when she saw what they had been waiting for.  “Is that, _Mycroft?_ What is he doing here?” She whispered, shocked.  In a perfect example of “one of these is not like the other,” Mycroft was walking down the shabby street in an expensive suit, twirling his umbrella.

 

“Okay, Charlotte,” he said taking her hand and forcing her to focus. “It is extremely important that you follow my lead,” he said leaning closer to her.  He put his hand up to her cheek, hitched a smile to his face and said, “Now I need you to smile at me and pretend to be in love with me.”

 

“You can’t be serious?” She asked laughing and brushing his hand away. Taking in his expression she sat up straighter and stopped laughing.  “Wait, why?”

 

“Charlotte,” he whispered exasperated with her.

“Don’t _Charlotte_ me, I want to know why,” she whispered.

“ _Just…”_ he exhaled. “Just do what I want,” he grabbed her hand again gripping tighter.

“Does that ever _actually_ work for you? To just tell people to do what you want?” She asked laughing and pulling her hand away. She looked up and saw Mycroft crossing the street and ten seconds away from entering the shop.

“John, never asked ridiculous questions,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, _what?!_ You had a situation in which John needed to pretend to be in love with you?” She asked.

“What? _No,_ just, just do this for me and stop asking questions,” he said.

“Why should I?” She asked challenging him.  He took a breath, deeply agitated with Mycroft’s immanent arrival.

“Because I am asking you to,” he said through gritted teeth.  When she refused to make comment, he grabbed her hand again, rolling his eyes.

_“Please?”_ He exhaled, barely glancing at her.

“Was that so hard?” She asked, punching his arm, playfully.

 

“Okay, so you basically want to screw with your brother’s head right now?” She said in a serious tone.

 

“I don’t…I want him to believe something and I need your help convincing him,” he said quickly.

“Just how convincing do you want me to play my role?” She waggled her eyebrows at him.

“Very,” he said seriously, missing the humor.

“This is a terrible idea for the record,” she said.

“Noted,” he replied looking away.

“No, really, have you thought about this?  Really thought about this?  The implications, the consequences?” She asked insisting he look at her.

“Charlotte,” he said again in a threatening tone.

“Fine. But, it’s gonna cost you, Sherly,” she warned.

“I’m prepared to pay,” he replied looking back in Mycroft’s direction. He doubled back to look at her about to say something, but gave up when he heard the bell ring as the Mycroft opened and walked through the door. 

 

Realizing she would have to call Mycroft’s attention, she threw her arms around Sherlock, wincing with pain, then, laughed like a fifteen-year-old girl in love for the first time. 

***

 

“Sherlock? Ah, and Miss Hastings, yes well I can’t say I’m surprised you’ve fallen under my brothers spell,” Mycroft had heard her and began walking over to them. 

 

Sherlock shifted in his seat bringing her hand down and holding it with both of his.  He was very clearly uncomfortable in his brother’s presence with her so close like this. His hands had gone from warm and dray to cold and clammy in the space in had taken for Mycroft to see them and then sit at their table.  He took a breath to begin speaking, but she squeezed his hand to stop him.

 

“What can I say?  I’m a sucker for tall brooding men with gorgeous hair and killer lips,” she turned to look at Sherlock with dreamy eyes and was rewarded with a quick kiss on the nose. “Ever the tease, your brother is,” she said, jabbing him in the ribs.  He smiled in discomfort, tensing more when he turned to see Mycroft contemplating the scene unfolding in front of him.

 

This was going to be a lot of work, she thought.  She could play her role convincingly, but she needed him to relax a little more if he wanted this stupid plan to work.

 

“I just couldn’t help myself,” she said grabbing his shirt and pulling him in for a kiss.  Though it was chaste, it was the first time they had been this close.  As tense as his body was, his lips remained soft, and his eyes looked dazed when she pulled back.

 

“How _lovely_ for you,” he said smiling at Charlotte then slowly turned to look at his brother he added, “both.” Sherlock was blushing at this point and began to lean away.

 

Charlotte snuggled up closer to Sherlock laying her head on his shoulder and slipping her hand under his coat to his chest to trace the word _desire_ praying he remembered what she had said this morning. She could feel some of the tension leave his body when she refused to let him go.  He put his arm around her and even though it did not look like a natural movement for him, with each passing moment he became less tense and eventually began rubbing little circles on her arm with his thumb.

 

“I presume you have a reason to be here other than to display your newfound love.  What is it you want brother dear?”  Mycroft remained skeptical but as Charlotte had hoped, tension was leaving the younger Holmes brother and rising in the other the longer they stayed wrapped together. Charlotte had kept her hand on his chest and took this moment to trace his collarbone with her index finger as she had done that morning.  He drew confidence from her and stared hard and Mycroft.

 

“Charlotte received another message this afternoon.  The text came in around one.  She was in the tailor’s picking up our costumes for this weekend when the… _person_ texting her commented on the color of her gown, expressing their preference for the color red. When she went back into the changing room,” he paused for effect looking at Charlotte, “she discovered twenty-six razor blades had been sewn into the gown.”  He looked back to his brother with coldness. “She has incisions on both sides of her back, _Mycroft._ You told me, she would have a security detail. You told me she would be _safe_ under your surveillance.” He narrowed his eyes at his brother.

 

“If you two are so… _close_ why ever would you have left her alone?” Mycroft asked in mock defense, pulling out his phone looking bored.

 

Charlotte pinched him then sitting up and bringing her hands to her hair to smooth it back.  Letting out a breathy giggle, she said, “That’s on me, my bad!” She lifted her hand then realizing he had no idea what that meant she waved it as if to push the words away. “Sorry, that’s American…I just mean, it’s my fault.  I needed some girl time with Molly.  You know…to get her opinion on some things…some _private_ things…” she said winking at him. The men shifted in their seats, Sherlock cleared his throat and Mycroft rolled his eyes. 

 

“Yes, Miss Hastings, I understand your meaning,” he said putting the phone down and pinching the bridge of his nose desperately trying to get the image out of his head, change the subject and shut her up. 

 

“Mycroft, if you don’t have her under a protection detail, as you said you did, my question is what else have you lied about?  How much have you been keeping from us?” Sherlock regrouped quickly and his tone became deep and frightening.

 

Charlotte did not have to fake any emotion at this point.  She had just assumed Sherlock had all the information about the case and was simply waiting for her to remember things.   She sat up straighter staring between Sherlock and his brother trying to discern the silent communication between them. Sherlock moved his hand back to her neck and gently squeezed signaling to relax.  She tried, knowing there was clearly a plan, but the death cold glare the brothers were sharing unnerved her.

 

After a few moments of silence, Mycroft shifted in his seat, gave his brother and Charlotte an appraising look then finally spoke.

 

“I have not lied to you.  To either of you.”  He held his hand up to silence the pair across from him and continued.  “I acknowledge that certain pieces of information were omitted from the original case files you were given.  They had to be.  I couldn’t risk you opening your big mouth or rushing her memory any way.  Tell me dear, have you remembered something?”  He asked, turning towards Charlotte.

 

She watched his mouth moving and heard his words, but their meaning was lost on her.  Before she could speak, Sherlock gently increased the pressure on her neck by way of warning. She looked at him and rearranged her shocked expression to one reassured by his presence and smiled in acknowledgement.

 

“How about you just give us the files?” She asked simply and Sherlock gently rubbed her neck.

“I cannot simply hand them over.  What do you remember?” Mycroft began before she cut him off.

“If my life is in danger and I’m putting everyone else’s life in danger by just being near them then it comes down to you.  It would be your fault for withholding information that could get this case solved,” she fiercely whispered.

“Please, Miss Hastings, I have had people tirelessly working on the files for months, if they haven’t found anything_”

“MONTHS?” She asked shocked and grabbed Sherlock’s hand searching his face for some clue.  He had grimaced at the exchange and gave her an apologetic look.  If looks could kill, Mycroft would have been extinguished right in his chair.

“Give. Me.  The.  Effing.  Files. _Mycroft,”_ she said through her teeth.

“No,” he said glaring at her then at Sherlock.  “I can’t,” he said. 

 

Charlotte looked at Sherlock for direction but he simply sat back giving Mycroft a calculating look and then finally a smile.  Looking between them she again realized there was a bigger plan, one that she was not privy to knowing a fact that infuriated her. Sherlock stood bringing Charlotte with him.  Putting an arm around her he guided her away from the table.

 

“Sherlock, what do you think you’re doing?” Mycroft asked in warning.

“Nothing at all brother, we will see you on Saturday,” Sherlock replied over his shoulder, walking out of the shop.

 

“Mind telling me what the _hell_ that was all about?” She asked as they rounded the corner.  He stopped suddenly and pulled her in for a dizzying kiss. When he released her all she could do was stare at him in surprise. Not satisfied with this look he pulled her closer and whispered in her ear.

 

“He has nothing I don’t already know, you need to relax.  We’re being followed, I still need you to pretend for a bit longer.”  He tilted her back to properly look at her and smiled encouragingly.  “Of course, it won’t be convincing if it looks as if I’ve just threatened your life, can you manage a smile or am I going to have to demonstrate my own cunning skills of seduction?” He gave her a cocky grin and smoothed her hair back away from her face to kiss her forehead.

 

Nervous laughter escaped her lips and he pulled her in close again, this time for a hug. “Kiss me like that again, and there won’t be a need to pretend,” she said under her breath.  

“What was that?” He asked smiling down at her.

“Um, nothing.  Who,” she cleared her throat, “who is following us? Mycroft and his people, or the bad guys?”

“I believe it is your texter, but Mycroft is also a bit curious now I think, so take a deep breath and relax.  You need to be as convincing as you were in the kitchen this morning. The restaurant was good, but the kiss in there could have been better.  We’ll practice later,” he said turning her around so that they could continue to walk together.


	20. Cookies with No Fortunes Are Crap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte spends some time with Holmes the actor and decides she may need to reconsider her original debunked theory of his high-functioning-sociopath status.

Sherlock took Charlotte on the rest of the errands she had been unable to finish that morning, all the while holding her hand, or with his hand on the small of her back.  At one point she could swear he looked adoringly at her and thought immediately that she might have to reconsider her debunked ‘high-functioning sociopath’ theory.  She found his performance to be almost too convincing once they had left Mycroft’s presence.  During moments she thought they would be safe she continued badgering him about what Mycroft had alluded to in the shop.  Each time he either ignored her or distracted her by handing her different things to hold and walking off in the opposite direction.

 

After stopping to pick up some Chinese food, they returned to the apartment, where Charlotte was delighted to find Mrs. Hudson puttering around the living room.

 

“Oh good! Mrs. Hudson, you’re back!” Charlotte said, a little too cheerfully.

“Oh, hello dear, it’s lovely to see you again,” she said taking Charlotte’s hands in hers and giving them a good squeeze.  Sherlock was moving around the apartment quickly coming to an abrupt halt in the kitchen, turning back to watch the women and looking thoroughly pleased, then began digging through the food bags.

 

“Sherlock Holmes have you been through my liquor cabinet?”  She placed her hands on her hips and looked at him as a mother would look at her own misbehaving child.  Smiling, Charlotte walked to the back to put the items they picked up today in her room with the rest of the party favors.  She made a note on her to-do list to pick her dress up at Scotland Yard tomorrow.  During the errands, Lestrade had called Sherlock telling him they were finished analyzing everything and it was ready to be picked up.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.  Search the place if you must, you’ll find nothing here,” he said absently from the kitchen.

 

“Sherlock, isn’t that a vodka bottle in the garbage?  You were supposed to be getting clean_” Mrs. Hudson began before being cut off.

 

“ _Mrs_. Hudson, if you don’t want to witness me doing _very_ naughty things with Charlotte tonight I suggest you leave. Now.  You may even want to turn the volume of your telly up a bit louder than usual tonight to drown out her screams.  She’s quite vocal, that American.” He gave her a wicked grin and walked back into the kitchen.

 

“Oh!’ Stuttering and fanning herself she stumbled backwards, gave Charlotte a scandalized look when she saw her come out from the back of the apartment and then fled down the stairs.

 

“What’s the matter with _her_?” Charlotte asked coming into the kitchen and sitting at the breakfast bar. Taking in his smirk she realized she would probably not want to know the answer so she held her hands up and shook her head.  “Never mind, don’t tell me.  I don’t want to know,” she said, reaching for her food. 

 

“So, what exactly happened this afternoon?” She asked twirling lo mien around her fork.

“What part of the afternoon are you referring to?” He asked cocking his eyebrow.

“Mycroft saying he has kept information from us.  What did he mean?” She asked, trying to sound casual.

Before responding, Sherlock took out his phone and began scrolling through it. Satisfied with whatever his search turned up, he put it down in front of her and went back to the bag of sauces. 

“I’ve already told you to stop worrying about that,” he walked out of the kitchen then.

“Yes, well _that_ clears it all up now, thank you so very much,” she said under her breath taking in a large fork-full of lo mien. 

 

“I needed something,” he said from directly behind her.  Swallowing her food all at once she immediately began coughing. 

“For the love of God, do NOT sneak up on someone when they are eating!” She smacked at him, but he dodged her causing her to nearly fall off the stool, swearing as she pulled the cuts on her back.  He came round to the other side of the breakfast bar and took a fortune cookie out of the bag.

 

He broke into one and read the fortune, then smiled triumphantly. Shoving the cookie in his mouth he reached immediately back into bag.

“Hey,” she tried to snatch the bag from his hand.  “You can’t have all of the cookies. It’s bad luck!” He gave her a bemused grin and sat down positioning the bag in front of her.

 

“You’re going to have to explain that.  Is it an American superstition?” He asked grabbing a spring roll off her plate.

“Jesus, you’re in an ornery mood today, what is your deal?” She asked trying to grab it out of his hands, laughing.  He shrugged his shoulders and shoved half of it in his mouth, but did not respond.

“And no, it’s not an American superstition…at least I don’t think it is. It’s just one of my many little quirks,” she said.

 

“What other quirks do you have?” He asked, pretending to be interested.

“Or, we could do the thing where you answer any one of my questions completely. That’d be fun, don’tcha think? Let’s start with_” she began but was interrupted.

“No, that’s boring.  Tell me about your quirks,” he said with a tone of finality similar to Sophie’s and Charlotte realized it was a dead end.

“You tell me,” she said, twirling more lo mien on her fork. He sat there silently looking at dust particles or something else she could not see.  Figuring it could be one of those times when he completely shut down and refused to talk for hours, she got up to get a glass of water.

“You twist the doorknob after turning the lock to be sure it is really locked. It’s more of a compulsion you have than a belief you didn’t lock it.  You adjust the clasp of your necklace when it rotates down to the charm and from what I can tell you say a prayer or make a wish after you do it. Your first cup of coffee is something akin to a religious experience and you use a different cup for each day of the week.  You use sarcasm as a defense in social situations when you’re uncomfortable,” he said.

 

“Hang on a minute, everyone does that,” she said defensively. He shrugged his shoulders at her dismissing her justification.

 

“The volume of your music and subsequently the volume of your singing match the mood you’re in.  While your playlist is set to shuffle, you tend to listen to the same songs in the same order…again, depending on your mood.  God-awful country music when you’re feeling sad or melancholy, possibly remembering an old flame.  Seventies rock when you’re feeling worked-up about something.  Shall I continue or are you ready to share?” He asked grabbing the container of dumplings.

 

“I’ve only been here for a few days…I haven’t played any of the music you’re talking about,” she contradicted him.

“I looked through all of your music.  You have appalling taste,” he said shoving a dumpling into his mouth and staring out of the room again.

 

“How about you shut up?  As for the list of quirks, you’ve done pretty well, of course there are several more. But I have another question about today first,” she said.

“Of course you do,” he looked irritated with her.  She contemplated him for moment before going back to her food saying nothing.

A few minutes passed in silence.  Charlotte began to feel tired and longed to curl up in her comfy clothes with Pride & Prejudice and get lost in the story.

“Well?” He asked impatiently.

“Well, nothing.  You’ve reached your limit for the day, I am respecting that by shutting up now.” She went back to absently twirling her noodles.  She realized she would not eat any more for the time being and began putting the lid back on. She grabbed a fortune cookie and split it open.

 

“Well, that’s crap.” She said to herself.  She saw him look over at her and she told him there was no fortune in her cookie.  He just grinned at her.

 

“Do you want some champagne?” He asked, jumping up and headed towards the fridge.

“No,” she said watching him carefully.  He looked hyper again as he had in the shop.  He had either not heard her or not cared what her answer was because he was getting out glasses and popping the cork.

 

“I’m not getting drunk with you tonight, Sherlock,” she said cautiously. He grinned more to himself than to what she had said, but there was a mischievous look there.

 

He filled them and placed one in front of her waiting expectantly for her to clink her glass with his.  She obliged but took a small sip.  He rolled his eyes and came back to sit beside her.  She looked up at him to see his eyes were trained on the bag he had put in front of her.  Inside, there was the fortune from the cookie he had just broken.  The message on it read: YOU ARE BEING WATCHED.

 

Before saying a word, she drained her glass and Sherlock gave an approving smile. “What’s this supposed to mean?” She asked slightly alarmed.  He simply tapped the table top close to where he had laid his phone. 

 

Acting as natural as she could, she dropped her head to one hand and used the other activate the home screen of his phone.  There she saw a picture of them on the street out side the Fish-N-Chips shop in an embrace.  As she was looking at it, a new message arrived.  He put his arm around her then to get a closer look at his phone as she opened the new message.  This time it was a picture of the two of them clinking their champagne glasses. Based on the angle of the image, she could tell the camera was somewhere on top of the fridge. It took every ounce of energy not to immediately look for it just then.

 

“Mycroft or the bad guy?” She asked without looking in his direction.

“The outside images are coming from our stalker, but the cookie message is from Mycroft and it’s Mycroft’s equipment, but I believe the feed is being hacked into,” he said pressing his lips to the side of her head pretending to kiss her.

 

“How many cameras and where?” She asked, turning her head slightly towards him.

“Just this one in the kitchen.  I’ve checked everywhere else, I don’t believe there is an audio feed, just visual,” he said kissing her temple and reaching for another spring roll then moving back to his own stool.

“Eat,” he said.

“Why?” She asked, turning towards him fully.

“So that you nourish your body?” He said looking at her like she had lost her mind.

“No, I mean why are we being filmed?” She asked.

“Oh. After our little display in the shop today, he is…testing the validity of our claims,” he took a breath to continue but she stopped him.

 

“How do you know it’s not audio as well?” She asked sidetracked.

 

“Before you came out of your room, I was having a bit of fun and told Mrs. Hudson to turn her television up loud this evening to drown out your screams of pleasure,” he said smirking.  “Had there been audio, there would be a text accompanying this picture.”

 

As her previous thoughts caught back up to her she smacked his arm.

“Omigod! That’s why she looked at me like I was a hooker! Christ.”  She positioned herself back on her stool, but was ready to flee at any moment.

 

“Wait! What is the _matter_ with the two of you?  _Testing the validity of our claims?_ What does that even mean? And sending messages through fortune cookies; what the hell?  Who does that?  Did the two of you ever do anything normal, like talk on the phone?”  She was trying to keep her tone even, but failing.

 

“Charlotte,” he sounded exhausted, “please try to remember our conversation a few nights ago.  I asked you for something and you made your deductions for why I was eager to go that particular route.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders; trying to brush off the look she was giving him.

 

Her eyes were as big as saucers.

“Oh _no_ you didn’t!” Her American accent was becoming more pronounced the angrier she was getting. 

 

“Didn’t what?  I don’t understand that question?” He asked looking confused.

 

“For the love of God, Sherlock _that’s_ what today in the shop was about?  Oh God, and on the sidewalk after?  Shit,” she said covering her face with both hands.

 

“Charlotte,” he began.

 

“Shoosh,” she said raising a hand to stop him in his tracks but he tried again to get her to listen.

 

“Charlotte, I have to tell you_” he began.

 

“Nope.  You _have_ to stop talking now, or I’m going to hit you,” she said getting up and pacing around the small kitchen.  She leaned against the sink and closed her eyes and covered her ears. When she heard his stool push back her eyes flew open and she held a hand out to nonverbally stop him.

 

“I understand, well no, I really don’t understand, but I see what your plan was.  You’re not nearly as mysterious as you think you are. If we convince Mycroft, we convince the person threatening me,” she said with irritation.  He opened his mouth to say something, but no words had come out.  “No, wait! That can’t be right. Mycroft doesn’t give a crap if we’re intimate or not…all of it was smoke and mirrors today. We put on a show, and Mycroft was simply another character.  He was in on it, right?  He doesn’t have any information…I’m sure he already knew about the tailor’s today anyway… But why on earth go through all of the trouble?” She asked, confused again.

 

“Because,” he again started, but stopped when she put her hand up again.

“Oh…Because the more… _involved_ it appearsI have become with you, the more difficult it would be which means he would have to come up with a new strategy and Mycroft hopes to catch him in a mistake.”  She began pacing again.  “ _Jesus,_ Sherlock,” she exhaled.  “But what’s with Mycroft’s camera in here though?” She asked closing the distance and placing her hands on the table across from him.

 

“I might have played a hand in letting him believe something he over heard. The camera is because he’s curious but also because he knows it’s being hacked into so it furthers our claim…yeah,” he ended deflated.

 

 

“Son of a bitch.  This morning,” she said smacking her forehead and leaning back against the counter. “I gave you the idea this morning.” She exhaled slowly. “Oh my god, of course. It planted a seed in Lestrade, who made a comment to Mycroft, and you knew the next time you saw him, I would be with you and we would be on display.  So when we were out finishing the errands I didn’t get to finish earlier, you knew Mycroft would use that time to have a camera installed over here. And of course when he pulled his phone out, he was sending a message to someone telling him or her to get on that. But why bother with the kitchen, I mean if he is curious as to whether or not there is a grain of truth in your convoluted story, wouldn’t he just save time and install a camera in the bedrooms?” 

 

“Mycroft is curious, but he is still respectful.  Of course there would never be a camera in the bedroom,” he responded matter-of-factly.

 

She kept her eyes closed seeing more of the plan laid out in front of her and then finally it’s singular purpose.  Looking over at him, she growled at him in frustration. “You’re such an idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the typo's.


	21. Lesson Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte finds a teachable moment during a heated conversation with Sherlock about the bad choices make while under the influence of alcohol.

“Excuse me?” He asked dropping the grin and forgetting about the camera. She hopped onto the counter, out of sight of the camera and just stared at him.

 

“Are you really so eager to prove something to Mycroft? Or is it that I’m starting to remember things from that night and you want to speed it along? Is it the rush of adrenaline in a life-threatening situation that’s seductive to you?  Or is it your experiment that’s driving your choices here?” She asked him, but he could not answer. 

“No? Nothing?  You’ve got nothing for me?  You couldn’t stop offering reasons four minutes ago and _now_ you have nothing to say?  How about this then, how could you be sure I’d follow along with your plan?”

 

“I told you, I took a chance. I knew Lestrade picked up on something this morning and I also knew he would make a comment to Mycroft. Information like this would never be kept secret,” he looked up at her then.

 

“You took a chance?” She asked trying to understand him.  His face was open and empty of emotion. He got up then and came towards her, knowing he too was out of sight from the camera.

 

“Your reaction to me this morning was very informative.  Probably as informative as my reaction was for you.  You pushed me to the edge trying to prove I wasn’t ready but what you probably didn’t think about is that now you’ve told me what being ready looks and feels like, I can fake it.  And this morning, there was a moment when I could have taken control of the situation and made you forget your stupid plan to ‘ _teach me a lesson_ because I was angry with you for going out.’ Had I been more knowledgeable about your reactions or had confidence in my own abilities in this area, I would have been able to change your mind about the experiment.”  Bakery Eyes, she thought.  Shit.

 

She exhaled looking anywhere but at him.

He took a step closer to her.  Their positions were similar to where they had started that morning. Her legs were crossed and she was leaning on her hands and he stood in front of her.

“You find me attractive,” he said matter-of-factly. 

Silence was all he got from Charlotte.  He walked closer and tried again.

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing to be with me, in that way,” he said again moving closer.

 

Her arms reflexively crossed over her chest.  Her body language said very clearly the game was not on. He watched her closely reading her nonverbal message.  He backed up to the table and mirrored her position, though he remained standing.

“What?” He asked slightly irritated.

“Why the champagne?” She asked.

“I thought we already covered why you being intoxicated makes this plan smoother,” he said again confused with her reaction to his words.

 

“Jesus, Sherlock,” she took a big breath and exhaled, covering her eyes. Realizing this was a teachable moment though she lowered her hands and looked at him.

 

“Okay, this is lesson two.  It is NEVER appropriate to use alcohol as a vehicle to get you where you want! Especially when it comes to being intimate with another person.  People make bad choices when they are intoxicated.”  She paused then to be sure he was following. He looked lost in thought, but he was listening to her words.

 

“Being intoxicated with someone you’re in a committed relationship with or even just both of you acknowledging and willingly choosing to be physical is completely different than plying someone with alcohol to coerce them into doing what you want.  That’s assault,” she finished and saw his eyes flare with an argument.

 

“But you find me attractive! This morning you had no trouble trying to seduce me and you even participated this afternoon… _willingly!_ ” he said.

 

“I’ve already apologized for this morning.  That was completely wrong of me.  I had no intention of taking it farther, and I made that very clear to you at that time, but I am sorry about it all the same.   As for the rest of it, if I’m not on board with the plan and making those choices on my own… _sober_ and you keep pushing, and something happens, then it becomes assault.  I helped this afternoon because you didn’t really leave me with much of a choice.”  She paused to collect her thoughts.

“Do you understand better now?” She asked, the harshness leaving her voice. 

 

“But what about this morning?” He asked after several uncomfortable minutes of silence.

“What about it?” She replied.

“There was a moment, don’t bother trying to deny it, there was a moment when you weren’t trying to teach me a lesson anymore.  You weren’t faking anything.  And on the street earlier, you kissed me back,” he said quietly giving her a challenging look.

 

“You’re right.  I won’t deny any of that,” she said equally quiet and released her arms feeling the threat was over.

 

“I don’t understand,” he said with frustration. He was back against the table in such a way that he was within the camera’s frame, but not fully. He seemed to have forgotten to keep a fake smile on his face. 

 

“Sherlock, at this point, this very dangerous point we’re at right now, I’m really uncomfortable.  My life is in danger.  I've got cuts up and down my side.  I'm not allowed to leave this apartment alone, I'm not allowed to go home.  I'm scared.  I'm homesick.  I'm living with a man I met a week ago who has made it quite clear that he'd like to sleep with me,"  she was watching his face for reaction but received none.

"You’ve just told me you can now fake it.  Fake being ready for that next step, possibly even fake the emotions.  You have to understand that I never said no to your experiment solely because you weren’t ready.  I am attracted to you, you’re absolutely right. And yes, there was a moment this morning where…” she paused “I wished more than anything ‘what’s-his-face’ wasn’t here and that we could have just played it out to see how far it would go,” she finished in a rush.  

“But why would I want to be with someone who is faking it?  Just to do you a favor?  I’m not that kind of girl; you’ve done your research. I’m just not built that way.” She hopped down from the counter. He still had his arms crossed in front of his chest and was not looking at her.

 

Going back to her side of the table, she began clearing away the food bags. She put the containers in the fridge and found a cork to fit back into the champagne.  After that conversation she regretted having to cork the bottle and put it in the fridge, but she had meant what she said. People made stupid choices when they were intoxicated.  After the day she had had and all the ‘acting’ they had done, she did not trust herself to make good choices; a fact that he seemed to have been counting on.

Reminding herself not to look up at that camera, she closed the door of the fridge, closed her eyes and counted to three.  She felt his presence before turning, but she was still surprised at his proximity.

 

He took her hands and pulled her away out of the line of the camera.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  “Thank you for teaching me, I know it’s what you agreed to.  I’m sorry for forcing you to fake everything else today,” he said looking at her hands in his.

 

She considered him for a moment before responding.  “I forgive you,” she said looking up at him trying to make eye contact.  He just kept staring at their hands together.  She squeezed tighter and he finally looked at her.  She offered him a smile but his face was blank.

 

She was taken by surprise when he released her hands and smoothed her hair back. Charlotte laid her hands on his chest just to put them somewhere.  Letting her hands fall to her sides would have felt awkward and weird.  With his hands behind her head he began to lean down.  In a reactionary move, she felt her hands stiffen.  She regretted this the moment it happened. He brought his forehead to hers and closed his eyes.  Both of them taking a moment; standing together; breathing together.

 

She tried twice for words, but nothing came out.  Though her hands had softened, the moment still felt tense; filled with all the words that were not being spoken out loud. The third time she took a breath to try to speak he let go and walked into the living room before she could say a word.

 

Charlotte stood frozen to that spot with her hands stupidly suspended in the air where a moment before his chest had been.  When the room filled with the sound of the violin, she came back to herself.  She grabbed another glass of water, and went to her bedroom to sit, stunned, on her bed listening to him play.

The music he was performing tonight was new.  He must be composing she thought as she grabbed her towel and headed towards the bathroom. After her shower she reapplied bandages to her wounds and crawled into bed.  Sleep claimed her almost immediately.  She was vaguely aware of Sherlock joining her at one point and would swear she felt him holding her, but it could have all been a dream.


	22. Don't Look Now, Your American is Showing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary is summoned to retrieve Sherlock and brings Sophie and Charlotte with her. Sally Donovan gets verbally bitch-slapped and Lestrade makes a killing on an improbable bet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it has annoyed the ever-loving crap out of me that Donovan calls Sherlock a "freak." It's an ugly word and does damage to anyone who is the recipient, especially when it is hurled at them from someone who is a bully or doesn't understand them. This made me feel better. There will be more to come, of course, bullies have a difficult time learning lessons.

“No!” Sophie was talking to the chair while Charlotte was having a word with Mary in the kitchen.

“I guess he must have returned the camera to Mycroft because it’s not here anymore,” Charlotte said peeking out to see what Sophie was up to next.

“ABC’s I am singing the ABC’s.  Are you singing the ABC’s? No!” Sophie was now talking to the desk while jumping and twirling mid-air.

“So, he wasn’t here when you woke up then?” Mary asked.

“No, I went to sleep around ten o’clock I guess and slept hard. He was in there playing his violin when last I saw him.” Charlotte grabbed the notebook on the counter, shrugged and walked out to the living room where the little girl immediately ran up to her to question her about the ABC’s.

 

“Sophie we are going to practice writing our ABC’s more today. You need to sit down like a big girl on the chair,” Charlotte directed her towards the desk once more but pointed to the chair for her to sit there.

“I am a big girl.  Sophie is going to be six years old.  She is a big girl.  Are you singing the ABC’s? No!  Sophie knows her ABC’s.  Charlotte knows her ABC’s.  Mummy knows her ABC’s.  Sherly and Daddy know their ABC’s,” she continued running her script until Charlotte gave her a stretchy cord for her to play with.

 

After a minute or so, Sophie was able to focus on Charlotte and thus began the tedious task of teaching Sophie how to write her letters as opposed to scribbling all over the notebook.  Sophie could read way beyond her age group.  Sophie had trouble with following directions especially when it came to writing the letters.

 

“Am I done? Can I be done? Is it time to go to the park? Sophie is a big girl. Sophie wants to swing. Charlie loves to swing too. Can we go swing,” she began her script again.

“What did you say?” Charlotte asked looking as if she had seen a ghost.

Sophie was unable to answer; she was too deep within her script to break it. Charlotte figured she had simply combined her name with Sherlock’s to get Charlie.  Still, she was spooked.  She had not been called Charlie in over twenty years.

 

While Mary made phone calls in the kitchen confirming plans for the upcoming party, Charlotte moved Sophie on to practicing her violin.  When Sophie could focus, she was able to play at a proficient level for someone her age.  On days like this, however, she found one note, usually a high piercing one and repeated it until Charlotte took the instrument from her and redirected her to a new activity.

 

After thirty minutes of alternating between writing the alphabet, playing violin, and singing silly songs, Sophie was in need of a sensory break. Charlotte was in need of a break as well if she was being honest with herself.  Sophie felt the best use of her time would be to rearrange the books on the bottom shelf of Sherlock’s bookcase.  Charlotte sat on the floor watching the little girl as she systematically took each book out flipped through it, turned it upside down and returned it to the bookshelf in the opposite order it had originally been in.  After five minutes, she had finished and began reaching for the next shelf.

 

“Sophie, no!  We must put them back the way Uncle Sherlock had them,” Charlotte said slowly crawling across the carpet to the Sophie.

“Seriously?” Mary’s sharp tone lifted both Sophie and Charlotte’s heads.

“How long have you…Oh, I see. Yes, yes.  Alright, I’m on my way,” Mary came out of the kitchen with her bag and Sophie’s coat.

“Alright girls, grab your stuff we’re going out,” Mary said in a rush.

“What’s going on?” Charlotte asked before getting up.

“We need to go to Scotland Yard,” Mary said.

“We don’t have to Mary, I was going to get Sherlock to take me later today to pick up the dress,” Charlotte said relaxing back against the bookcase.

“He’s already there,” she said with irritation.

“Oh,” Charlotte said realizing something was going on.

 

Getting up she went to her room to put her shoes on and nearly tripped over Sophie as she began to leave the room.

“Where is Sherly? Nanny?  Nanny Char. Where is Sherly? Are we going to see Sherly now? He is not here. He is busy,” Sophie grabbed Charlotte’s hand and hurried her along.

 

Twenty minutes later they arrived at the station.  Much to the chagrin of her Mother and Uncle, Sophie had an odd fascination with a man named Anderson who was on the forensics team. As soon as they walked in she ran off to find him in the break room.

 

As Charlotte turned to follow her the man from the apartment yesterday morning came round the corner with her dress.

 

“Morning! Here’s your dress. It’s been thoroughly searched, there is nothing else hidden inside.  The forensic department went over it to search for DNA or any other identifying features, but all they came up with was your DNA from the blood. How ya feelin’?” He asked, smiling at her.

 

“Better. Thank you, and thank you for having them look through it to find anything else too.  I admit I’m a little scared to put it back on after yesterday,” she said, taking it out of his hands.

 

“Don’t you worry, it’s all fine.  I’m sure you’re going to look beautiful in it,” he said.  She could not quite place the feeling she was picking up from him, but it was a weird vibe.  He was grinning too broadly and standing too close.

 

“Yea, thanks.  Um, I’ve never met Anderson, is he a creeper? Sophie just ran to find him and I should really go get her,” she said edging around him.

 

“Ha! That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard this morning.  He is a creepy bloke, but Sophie is safe. They are right down the hall. I thought you came to get Sherlock though,” he said with that same odd grin.

 

“Mary is handling that with your Sergeant Donovan, I think?” Charlotte looked back to see Mary speaking with a beautiful black woman with a very unattractive sneer on her face as she looked over to Charlotte.

 

“Yea, that’s Donovan over there.  We had to detain Sherlock for disorderly conduct this morning,” he said laughing.

“What? What do you mean? What happened? Is he okay” Charlotte had five more questions ready to go but stopped when the creepy grin returned to his face.

“He’s fine.  A little banged up, but then you should really see the other guy,” he said snorting and guided Charlotte to the back where they were to be collecting Sherlock.

 

“Oiy! Sh’came to get you after all,” he shouted down a long cinderblock hallway.  He signaled for Charlotte to stay towards the end of it and wait for him.

 

Sherlock walked out thoroughly irritated, but froze when he saw Charlotte. He immediately rounded on Greg and harshly whispered, “I told you to call John.  Why is she here?  I don’t want her to…I don’t want her here.”

 

“Now, now cool your jets, I called John he’s in surgery with a patient,” he began but was cut short.

“Then I said to call Mary, these are not really difficult instructions Lestrade,” he seethed with anger.

“I did call Mary, she brought the girls.  Take it up with her, but your girl here was worried about you,” he snorted again and smacked the detective’s arm in some form of male bonding.  As he passed Charlotte he again gave her the suggestive smile he had given her before and it all made sense.

 

Sherlock was looking down and away from her when she saw something on his face. Though he had over a foot in height more than her and a hundred pounds or so to his advantage, she completely blocked him from passing.  Quickly looking around she noted that they were alone.

 

“What happened to you?” She blocked him from moving away from her.

“Nothing,” he said turning away from her, furious.

“Stop it and look at me,” she said in a tone she would have used on Sophie.

“No, now get out of my way I have better things to do!”  His anger had boiled over.  With Lestrade gone, Charlotte was the recipient. With no warning she stomped on his foot and grabbed his face to turn it towards her.

“I said, stop it and look at me,” she said firmly.  He refused to make eye contact but she could tell there was a long story involved.  There would be no way she would hear that story in the station.  It would have to wait until later when he calmed down. He was humiliated and looked as if each of his senses were hyper-alert.

 

“Are you okay?” She asked quieter raising both hands to his face. She turned his chin from left to right.  It looked as if he had only been hit once or twice.  His lip was bleeding and he had a decent bruise developing on his cheekbone. She gently traced the bruise with her fingertips and turned his head the other way again to be sure there were no other injuries.  His eyes found hers and he was able to refocus and nod.

 

“Yes, I’m fine.” He said much softer this time and leaning into her hand. He brought his right hand up to hold her wrist, keeping her hand in place against his face.

 

“What happened, Sherlock?  Who did this to you?  Lestrade said the other guy looked worse,” she took her hand away from his face to look at the knuckles on his hand.

He held onto her hand before answering.

“I returned the camera to Mycroft,” he said simply.

“And?” She asked not following his line of explanation. Looking back to his face and searching his eyes, something fell into place.

 

“Wait…you got into a fist fight with your _brother_?” She asked impressed, confused and horrified.

He just gave a small smile in return for her reaction to that and told her he would tell her the story later.

Bringing her hand back to his face she smiled. “I guess we should be grateful he hits like a girl then, huh?”  She earned a hug for this comment and she knew the humiliation and anger had dissipated.

 

Walking back into the main part of the station, she saw Sophie with the man that must be Anderson, Mary still talking with Sergeant Donovan and also now with Lestrade.  As Sherlock and Charlotte made their way back into the room conversations quieted. Charlotte realized then that she was still holding his hand; a fact he seemed to have just become aware of as well because he let go.  The suggestive grin from Lestrade was replaced with one of respectful understanding. Donovan still looked like she was displeased with something. 

 

Sophie, it turned out, loved playing with Anderson’s hair.  It was long and straight plus he had a beard for her to tug on.  She always had extra hair ties with her so at the moment the man had pigtails.  Everywhere. 

 

As they got closer Sherlock put his hand on the small of her back and she leaned in to him.  He seemed to feel more comfortable with this contact than holding her hand.  This suited her comfort level as well; there was more privacy and a bit more intimacy with this.

 

“Alrigh’ then freak, got yourself all checked out then?” Donovan said.

Charlotte immediately stiffened next to Sherlock who grabbed the back of her coat to keep her next to him.

“ _What did you just say to him?”_ She asked quietly, trying to keep her anger out of the tone in her voice so Sophie would not pick up on it.

“You heard me.  He’s a freak. Always knows everything, he’s dangerous, that one is.” Donovan leaned on the desk with one hand, put the other on her hip and gave Charlotte an aggressive look challenging her silently to disagree.

 

Sherlock kept a firm hold on the back of her coat and grabbed her other hand tightly nodding at Mary to get Sophie out.

 

“Sergeant Donovan, I am sure that to have come so far in the department a great deal of education and training was involved. Surely you have more vocabulary words to choose from,” she said falsely sweet.

 

“I call it as I see it.  A freak is a freak, there’s no better word for it,” she said smugly crossing her arms.

 

Charlotte strained against her coat and was reaching up to unbutton it but the pain in the hand he was holding had her changing course so she began to try to subtly shrug off his grip.

 

“Never, _ever_ use that word to describe him or anyone else like him for that matter again,” Charlotte said seething. She was desperately trying to shake off Sherlock’s hand at this point, forgetting to be subtle but he would not budge.

 

Sophie was still playing with Anderson, but the tension in the room could be cut with a knife.  Her little voice was adding enough noise to make the situation more uncomfortable. “One Piggy.  Two Piggy.  Three Piggy.  Piggy. Piggy.  Do you want to pet the Piggy?  We must be nice to the Piggy.  You may _not be_ mean to the Piggy.”  She did not bother to speak in anything other than her highest and most grating voice.

 

“Or what are you gonna do about it, then?” Donovan countered, speaking over the child.

“This is your warning, just don’t call him that ever again, especially in the presence of that little girl,” pointing towards Sophie.

 

“Okay, Charlotte, thank you.  Thank you Greg for calling me to come get him.  We’ll all be going now,” Mary grabbed Sophie, who proceeded to say goodbye to all of the people at the station while Donovan and Charlotte were still staring at each other.

“Char, it’s time for us to get going,” Mary said gently trying to break through the stare.  She rubbed Charlotte’s arm and gave Sherlock a meaningful look.  Both actions went ignored.

 

Mary gripped her arm tighter and finally broke Charlotte’s concentration, as well as Sherlock’s.  Mary walked away and as Sherlock turned Charlotte she overheard Donovan, who was not bothering to speak softly, say, “Well, that’s ten from me then boss, you were right, Freak does have himself a girlfriend.” 

 

Sherlock felt Charlotte stiffen again.  She squeezed his hand tight and pulled him down close to her lips.  

“Did you hear me warn her?” She asked Sherlock quietly.

“Yup,” was his only reply with a smile. Charlotte looked to be sure that Sophie was far enough away before letting go of Sherlock’s hand. He turned to watch her round on the cop.

 

“What did I just say to you?” She asked, storming up to the taller woman.

 

“That man,” Charlotte said pointing to Sherlock.  He was leaning against a desk with his legs crossed at the ankle and his arms crossed in front of his chest.  He was watching the exchange closely with a satisfied smirk.

She took a deep breath, smiled at him and refocused on the woman again.  

 

“This man is not a freak.  You using that term clearly proves how uneducated you really are.  He’s different.  He is smarter than you.  He is smarter than the whole department put together if I had to put _money_ on it.  You feel insignificant or less than when he is around?  I really get that, but don’t you dare put him down just to make yourself feel better.  You want to be as good as him? Then put some damn effort into your job.  Pay attention to the details.  But do not call him a freak.  Shame on you Sergeant Donovan for being so narrow-minded and weak.”  She took a step back then and felt Sherlock’s hand on her waist.

 

Donovan was clearly waiting for this fight.  She gave Charlotte a wicked grin and took a step forward just as Sophie came from nowhere shouting at the woman.

 

“No! Bad lady. Donny is in trouble!  Nanny Char said Donny is a bad lady.  Donny was mean to my Sherly.  She was mean to our Sherly,” she said to Charlotte as justification for coming from nowhere to stomp on Donovan’s foot. "Be nice to Charlie!" She screamed at Donovan aiming to kick her this time.

 

As Donovan swore and reached for the child, Sherlock doubled his grip around Charlotte’s waist as she lunged for the woman.  Anderson grabbed Donovan and Lestrade grabbed Sophie before Donovan could get her and handed her to Sherlock.  She was kicking and yelling at the Sergeant angry that she insulted the two people Sophie loved most in the room, her mother was waiting in the hall.  Lestrade shooed them from the station before anything worse would happen.

 

Watching them all walk away together Lestrade fell silent.  The sight of the detective with the child in one arm and Charlotte in the other strangely fit together.  He picked up an empty basket when they had walked out of the station with a little remorse and went around collecting the money everyone owed him on this bet.  He made out very well.


	23. Stimulation Overload

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How exactly does someone provide sensory breaks for an overstimulated Sherlock Holmes?

Through out the rest of the week Sherlock had taken small cases to occupy his time and get him out of the apartment.  He was rarely there during the day and often would not get back until very late each evening.  There were times when he would sit in the living room with Charlotte while she was watching a romantic comedy and ask questions the entire time trying to understand the motivations behind each characters development.  There were other times when she would be doing educational research for Sophie’s training while he played violin. One evening he returned particularly agitated.  He was not able to solve the case he had been given that morning.  Something about the way Charlotte was relaxing quietly on the couch annoyed him.

 

He came storming into the room glaring at every surface.  She continued to read looking up every now and then. After ten minutes of pacing, jumping on and off his chair and throwing things off his desk searching for something he came to an abrupt halt in front of the couch Charlotte was lying on.

 

“How can you read that insipid nonsense?” He sneered at her.

“Sherlock, go find something else to do please,” she said barely glancing in his direction.

“It’s unrealistic!  It’s out of date.  None of it is real, it doesn’t make you smarter and you’ve read it already!”

“Sherlock, please,” she exhaled.  “Go. Find.  Something.  To.  Do.” She said making the mistake of looking up at him.  His eyes were dark and his glare predatory.  She felt a swooping sensation in her stomach and quickly looked away.  She was not afraid for her safety, the look he gave her had very little to do with violent aggression but she was willing to bet he had no idea how to categorize his feelings right now.  If she had to choose a label it would have to be something between Bedroom Eyes meets Bakery Eyes.  He was desperately trying to get and keep her attention but his brain had very little to do with his actions.

 

He stomped over to her, grabbed the book from her hand and threw it to the ground.  He stood there looking over her waiting for a reaction.  His entire body hummed with tension.  He flexed his hands, making and releasing a fist in each, alternating between right and left.  Charlotte did not look at him.  He began shifting from his right to his left foot.

 

“Sherlock, please pick up the book,” she said in an unattached voice, staring off in space.

“No,” he said forcefully.  She could feel his eyes burning a hole into her.  She slowly looked at her watch.  It was already nine o’clock.  Nights were always the worst for him.  He became unsettled, defiant, and often reckless. John had warned her this would happen after the novelty of her being there wore off.  She had seen him irritated before, but he had never been physically aggressive.  She knew he was out of cigarettes and silently berated herself for not reminding him to get more or even pick up some patches.

 

“Sherlock, please pick up the book,” she repeated more firm than she had before.

“No,” he said again just as aggressive.

 

She laid there for a couple more beats before slowly sitting up. The only way he could make sense of his actions was to treat it like a game.  If she ran, he would chase her.  With a child like Sophie, she would be able to provide a sensory stimulation like squeezing her into a hug or rubbing the muscles in her arms or shoulders to focus her energy and get rid of the excess feelings. With a six-foot tall man, she was not entirely certain how to proceed.  Still not looking at him directly she could tell he was still standing there filled with tension.  Proceeding with caution she stood, careful not to make any sudden movements.

 

He seemed to be bouncing on the balls of his feet, ready to pounce. She briefly looked him in the eye to see a spark of mischief and a ghost of a smile on his lips. Debating her options she released the tension in her knees subtly.  Anticipating his next move she slowly stepped to the right where he blocked her path. She could see how this would play out now realizing what his plan of attack was. 

 

Doubling back to the left she was blocked again.  Feinting to the right she was able to duck under his arm, knowing he would still catch her.  She managed to get under his arm before he spun around catching her with his other arm.  The momentum of this move brought them both to the ground but she was able to use it to her advantage. He barely had time to wrap both arms around her waist before she was able to squirm out of his grip. Charlotte ducked backwards and he fell forward to his stomach.  She jumped on to his back and placed her knees between his shoulder blades to hold him in place. For insurance, she grabbed a fistful of his hair.

 

“Now, what exactly do you need?” She asked slightly out of breath.

“GEROFF ME!” He yelled into the floor.  She leaned forward, pushing his face into the floor harder with her hand on his neck.

“Not until you tell me what you need,” she said more calmly.

“INEERDERCURSH GEROFF ME!” He yelled again just as frustrated as he was before.

 

“What was that?”  Laughing she lost her grip and was knocked off and then immediately pinned down.

 

“I said, I need a case,” he had both of her hands above her head and was getting more irritated with her laughing but his eyes were still the dangerous combination from a few minutes ago.  Now that he had her pinned things were beginning to click in his brain as to what was driving this aggression. 

 

“STOP LAUGHING!” He yelled with less conviction. 

“Okay,” she said still trying to catch her breath.   When she thought she had herself under control, a new fit of laughter would escape.  As annoyed as he was by her laughter, some of the aggression he had earlier displayed was decreasing and his grip on her wrists was loosening. His pupils were dilated and his breathing was shallow.

“Now, I can’t help you with the case part, but if you let me go I might be able to help you with whatever is going on in your head.  What do you need?” She watched a shadow pass his eyes and his face fall a fraction of an inch.

“I don’t know,” he said, letting her go.  He was struggling with an emotion foreign to him.

Continuing to lay on the floor she watched him sit up away from her.

 

“Can you describe it?”

“What, do you mean how I feel?” He looked down at her with confusion.

“Sure. Physically, how do you feel right now?” She rolled to her side and propped her head with her arm.

“I don’t have time for that, this is stupid.  I just need…I don’t know. DAMN IT!”  He gave her a predatory look again but thought better of it, jumping up to search the apartment for something.  He spent a few minutes banging around before coming back with her phone.

“He hasn’t written anything in the last day!” He was grasping for something to figure out and solve.

“Why are you still lying there?  What’s the matter with you?  Don’t you ever do anything besides lie about all day?”  He dropped down to the floor next to her and glared at her for not responding to him at all.

 

“Are you willing to try something?”  She sat up, not breaking eye contact.

 

“What do you have in mind?” He asked cocking his eyebrow and leaning in uncomfortably close.

“Sit like me, and give me both hands,” she said trying not to grin at his remark.  She was sitting cross-legged on the floor.  Somehow she had intrigued him, so he sat across from her, knees touching and gave her his hands but immediately withdrew them as if he had touched the inside of a broiler.  He looked at his hands then back at her as if she had deliberately hurt him.

 

“Alright, alright.  Calm down. Close your eyes. I think that would be best for you right now,” she said.

“What for?” He snapped at her.

“So that I can slap you and see the shocked expression on your face,” she glared at him.  He did not find her sarcasm amusing though.  “Because I want to try a series of experiments on you to ease the discomfort you feel right now.  You’re over-stimulated. I would like very much not to get mauled to the floor again so I would feel better going to sleep tonight knowing you’re less agitated.  Now, I want you to close your eyes.”

 

“Then what?” 

“Then nothing; just close your eyes first.  I’ll walk you through the next step when I think you’re ready for it,” she said quietly.

 

His eyes were still trained on her and his mouth was down turned.

“Do it now, or you’re on your own tonight,” she said.  Something very subtle changed in his expression.

“Trust me,” she whispered.

Taking another moment to stare at her, he finally closed his eyes on his own. She let him sit there with his eyes closed for forty seconds before speaking.

 

“I will not make physical contact with you.  You are free to open your eyes when you feel you have to, but try very hard to fight that impulse.  You are safe here.  I will be asking you questions that will sometimes require you to speak aloud and at other times shake or nod your head to answer.  Nod your head if you understand,” she said in an even tone.

 

He nodded and immediately took a breath to speak but she stopped him by speaking first.

 

“Shhh, you’re okay.  Just breathe for me.”  She watched as he sat there with his eyes closed; his body was still filled with tension and she could tell his toes were tapping in his shoes just be able to release the energy somehow.

 

“I want you to lay your hands on your knees, palms facing the ceiling. I won’t touch you,” she repeated. She waited for him to comply and placed her hands a foot above his.

 

“Nod your head if you can see more than one color.”  He nodded and she kept her hands where they were.

“Nod if you can see shapes.”  He did not see shapes and she lowered her hands an inch.

“Are your colors moving or stationary?”

“They are moving.”

“Fast or slow,” she asked moving her hands down another inch.

“They’re moving fast.”  She lowered her hands another inch and his eyes squeezed tighter.  She could tell he was fighting the impulse to open his eyes.

“Are the colors blending together, or are they staying separate?”

“They blend at the edges, but are remaining pure at their center.”

 

She did not move her hands this time and waited until his eyes relaxed.

“Nod your head if there are more than three colors.”  He did not nod his head and she lowered her hands again. She remained silent and lowered her hands another three inches slowly.  He took a deep breath then and she knew she was on the right track.

 

“Nod your head if there are less than three colors.”  He nodded.  She lowered her hands one more inch and left them there.

 

“Okay, now I want you to concentrate on the sounds around you. Keep your eyes closed, and monitor your colors, but tell me about the sounds around you,” she said whispering.

 

“What can you hear?” She said again when he had not responded.

“Everything,” he said shortly and opened his eyes to sneer at her.  When he looked at her though, her eyes were closed. He looked at the placement of their hands curiously.  He was tempted to raise his hands, but realized that was not part of the experiment.

 

She did not respond and kept her eyes closed figuring he was waiting for her to give up and let him win.  When she did not offer a response verbally, he let out a deep breath and closed his eyes again.

 

“I can hear the street below; cars, buses, sirens.  I can hear people on the street yelling for cabs,” he peeked to see what she was doing, but her eyes were still closed and her hands had not moved.  “I can hear Mrs. Hudson below slamming doors and stomping around her flat,” he took another deep breath. 

 

“Can you really or are you just listing things that make sound? Concentrate and tell me what else can you hear?” She asked softly, lowering her hands again.

 

“I can hear the refrigerator humming and I can hear you breathing,” he said taking a pause.  “I can hear myself breathing,” he took a longer pause then and whispered, “I can hear my heart beating too.”

 

“Do you see more than one color still?” 

“No,” he said quietly.  She opened her own eyes and lowered her hands so that they were two inches apart.

 

“Is the color still, or is it moving?”

“It’s moving slowly now.”

 

“Good, keeping your eyes closed, I want you to focus on the sense of touch,” she said softly gently laying her down-turned hands onto his palms. The movement surprised him and he reflexively jumped at the contact.

“Trust me,” she whispered again.

“I do,” he said in return sounding surprised.

 

She pressed her hands onto his again and waited for him to get used to the sensation.  After a beat, he relaxed under her touch and began speaking.

 

“Your hands are warm and dry but your fingertips are cold,” he said smiling. She moved her fingertips from the base of his wrist to the tips of his fingers several times.

“It feels like your using an ice cube, at first your fingers are cold then there is a burning heat left behind.”

She moved her hands to his arms and repeated the movement this time beginning at his shoulder and moving down to his fingertips.

“Now it feels like your adding weight to my arms to make them heavier, like it’s harder to move them.”  She continued this several more times.

“Do you still feel jittery and unsettled inside?” She asked softly.

“Not as much, but yes,” he said, eyes still closed.

 

She moved her fingers to his temples and gently rubbed in circles. She traced the bones of his face and his collarbones.  Then she began gently pulling his hair away from his head.  From there she tapped her fingertips from his neck down to his fingers several times.  After trying out a few more sensory techniques, she told him to open his eyes.

 

“Better?” She asked him.

“Yes, how did you know what to do?” He looked carefully at her but withdrew his hands so that they were no longer making physical contact.

“I didn’t actually.  I tried several things I’ve used on previous clients and a few things that really help Sophie.  A lot of it is common sense.  When you told me you felt both the feeling of ice immediately followed by heat from my touch told me that if I had tried to squeeze you, you would have had a melt down. Touch, sound, sight…those are your immediate triggers.  We eliminated sight, by closing your eyes and forcing you to focus on the colors you could see.  The slower the vibrations and the more focused the color, the easier it would be to tackle the other senses. It’s all about narrowing it all down to a singular point to focus on,” she said, standing and walking into the kitchen for a glass of water.

 

“What else would you have done?” He asked following her into the kitchen.

“You mean, if everything I tried didn’t work?”

“Yes.”

“I guess I would have continued the things that I had already been doing…I might have added different textures to work with and increased pressure instead of just using my finger tips,” she said thinking on it. 

 

After a few minutes she decided to call it a night and headed into the other room to collect her book.

 

“Charlotte?”

“Yup,” she said picking up her fallen book.  He was standing close enough for her to realize at least one of his senses had been reestablished.  He watched her closely for any sudden movements.  She remained frozen in place gauging his expression. He took the water and book out of her hands and laid them on the table then turned back to face her.

“I want to try something, are you okay with that?”

“Um, you might want to rethink that.  You’ve had a lot of sensory tonight.  You don’t want to undo that.  You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Well, that depends, you’re not planning on tackling me to the ground again, are you?” She asked with a sly smile.

He smiled at her but said nothing.  He came closer still, bringing one of her hands to his shoulder. She looked at him suspiciously but followed his lead.  He took her other hand in his and wrapped his arm around her waist. He stood there for a moment waiting for something. 

 

“Do you want me to put something on?” She asked feeling slightly uncomfortable just standing there.

“No, I’m calling something up.  Would you be comfortable closing your eyes?” he asked.  She hesitated but realized this was a trust building activity and needed to hold up her end of the relationship and closed her eyes. With gentle pressure on her hand he began to lead her around the room.  She had no idea what music he was hearing in his mind, but it was a slow piece.  She had to stop herself from laughing when she heard Sophie’s voice in her mind saying: “Sherly is an excellent dancer!” 

 

For him, this was all about reestablishing control over his senses. He put himself fully in her hands before and now it was time to reclaim that power.  She was uncomfortable having her eyes closed, but trusted his dancing abilities to keep her from falling or bumping into things.

 

After a while he stopped moving them around the room, but kept his grip around her firm.  Standing still with her eyes closed she began feeling more uncomfortable and exposed. She could feel her face becoming redder with each passing breath.  The intimacy of standing this close to someone was making her insides twitch. Her own feelings were conflicted. She both liked and was mistrustful of this closeness.  She wanted to flee and yet at the same time squeeze tighter.  Going with her default she decided fleeing would be best.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said opening her eyes.

“Why would you apologize?” He asked keeping a firm grip on her, for she had begun trying to back away letting go of his hand.

“I…I have no idea,” she tried to look at him, but his gaze was too intense and she needed to look away.

 

“Look at me,” he said squeezing her hand tighter.  She raised her eyes to meet his with difficulty but held his gaze when she got there.  Charlotte had always struggled with trust and eye contact was so intimate. Sensing her discomfort he pulled her closer to him and guided her head to his chest.  They stayed like this a little longer before he started moving them into a dance again. 

 

“When you’re uncomfortable, you need to be held, tightly.  It makes you feel secure.  Weighed down,” he said to her.

“Sometimes, yeah, I guess,” she said curious where he was going with this.

“What else can I give you?”

“What do you mean give me?  I’m fine; I was just feeling _” her comment was silenced when she raised her head to find he had lowered his. “Exposed.” She finished, watching his expression change as he looked from her eyes to her lips.

 

“And now?”  He asked quietly, placing a soft kiss on her lips.  Pulling away he smiled at her but did not let go.

“Are you okay with that?” He asked her.  She did not exactly nod or shake her head and words were failing to come forward.  She moved her hand from his shoulder to his neck trying to deal with her own feelings.

“Are you?” She asked.

“Oh, Charlotte.  I’m really okay with that,” he said bringing her back to him and kissing her a little less gently. They had stopped dancing maybe a foot from the wall so it was no surprise to Charlotte to feel it behind her when he had kissed her again.  For a hot minute, hands were everywhere, never lingering in one place too long. When his hands moved to her waist and his grip tightened, a move she had anticipated, she helped him out by wrapping her legs around him.  Someone moaned and someone’s lip was bitten.  It was hard to keep track.

 

“Oo-oo?” Mrs. Hudson had appeared in the doorway and immediately froze to the spot, Lestrade running into her.

“How ‘bout that, then,” Lestrade said under his breath.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry, but you weren’t answering the bell,” she said flustered, trying to look anywhere but directly at the pair, but just could not look away.

 

“And I suppose you couldn’t work out why I wasn’t bothering,” he asked in a breathless growl.

“Well, I…I…” Mrs. Hudson was unable to find her train of thought when she caught sight of the look he shot at her.

 

He and Charlotte were still tangled together, which had more to do with trying to calm themselves rather than implying the other two should leave immediately so they could continue.  Though his grip had loosened greatly he still had not moved. He turned to look at her, both of them flushed with all that had just transpired plus the beginnings of a blush of embarrassment at being caught like a couple of teenagers.

 

“It’d be really awesome, if you could just wait for him outside,” Charlotte said calling their attention to her instead.  The moment he heard the door close he dropped his head to her neck, hugged her tightly and exhaled deeply.

 

“You going to be okay?” She asked laughing a little.

“Just…just give me a minute,” he sighed.

 

Letting her go, she regained her balance and walked into the kitchen. Once there she realized there was no real reason for her to be there.  Deciding the distance was a good thing she went to the fridge just to feel the rush of cold.  A movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention to the doorway. He was standing there with his coat on, hair still a mess and a few buttons undone on his shirt.

He took a breath to speak but came up with nothing.  She smiled at him and slowly approached. He eyed the door nervously then looked back to her still wanting to say something.  She slowly brought her hands up and fixed his hair, then fastened the buttons that still remained on his shirt.

 

“Go. Be brilliant.  I’ll still be here when you’ve solved it,” she said and walked past him out of the room.  His eyes followed her until she disappeared into her own room.

With a deep breath he stormed out the door, slamming it for good measure and thundered down the steps. Charlotte could not feel too sorry for Lestrade.  The agitated Sherlock that Lestrade had sent to her earlier was a temperamental kitten compared with the lion that just lost his prey tonight.


	24. Sorry Charlie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte loses herself in a memory from the past. In other words...backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the typos please.

Friday arrived and with it tremendous anxiety.  Sophie had been chanting the same four phrases for the last thirty minutes.  “I am the birthday girl! You are the birthday girl! Is it your birthday?  No, it is my birthday!  I am the birthday girl!”

Sophie was dancing around Charlotte’s bedroom as she tried to pack for the weekend.  Charlotte looked at the clock and groaned realizing it was only ten in the morning and would be a completely inappropriate time to begin drinking. Her second thought was if she added orange juice to the champagne, technically it would be okay for brunch, though Mimosas were appropriate at any time of day, really.

 

Sophie ran into the other room to jump on Sherlock’s chair.  Charlotte found the shoe she had been looking for under the bed and as she got up all the blood rushed to her head making her dizzy. Sitting heavily on the bed she closed her eyes to wait for the room to stop spinning.  Images from the night before came back to her in flashes making her blush furiously. Pushing them aside she tried to use the same focusing tactic on herself she had used with Sherlock. She had a jumble of colors pulsating quickly and blob shapes that refused to blend.  With Sophie stimming on the same four phrases in the other room it was impossible to concentrate. 

 

“Sorry Charlie!”  Sophie startled Charlotte out of her pathetic attempt at meditation.  Thinking she had heard wrong, she sat for another moment on the bed listening to Sophie in the other room.  When the little girl repeated the phrase, Charlotte ran from the room tripping over her own two feet.  Reaching the little girl, she fell to her knees and grabbed her shoulders.

“Sophie, who is Charlie?”

“Sorry Charlie. Nanny Charlie. Aunt Charlie.  Who is Charlie?  Don’t cry Charlie!  It is my birthday!  I am the birthday girl.  You are not the birthday girl.  Sorry Charlie!” Sophie shrugged Charlotte off and ran back to the bedroom to presumably up-turn the suitcase again sending Charlotte’s clothes all over the floor.

 

Charlotte sat stunned for a moment before seeing her phone on the arm of Sherlock’s chair.  Something was pushing at her memories trying to come through, but she could not call it up. In what felt like slow motion, she reached for the phone to read the message on display.

 

**Tell your boyfriend time is running out.**

**Sorry Charlie.**

 

Sophie came twirling into the room again wearing one of Charlotte’s dresses. Sitting back against Sherlock’s chair she watched the little girl dance around the room content and free to be herself.  She was not being asked to do anything.  She was not restricted in any way.  Sophie could just dance and sing and pretend to be in a fairy tale. Charlotte had not felt that free since she was a little older than Sophie is now.  Her father had been alive then.  She had Anna then. She had been Charlie then, as carefree and happy as Sophie is now.

 

The dizzying-head rush she had experienced earlier had returned and before she could stop herself, the room lost focus and she was stuck in a memory of the past.  She was conscious of Sophie moving about the room, but could not revive her self and escape the daydream. 

 

Her mother had been diagnosed with Bi-Polar disorder at the age of sixteen. With medication, therapy and the loving support of her boyfriend who later became her husband, she managed the routine of everyday life.  When she had to go off her usual medication to have her girls, things got a bit hairy, but again her husband saw her through.  Charlotte’s mother depended on her husband for almost everything. When Charlotte’s father passed away things fell apart at their home very quickly.  The guidance counselor at Anna’s school enrolled both girls in a Big Sister program.  The program provided after school and often weekend activities for the girls so their mother was able to go to doctor appointments and therapy sessions. It was a difficult childhood; the girls had needed to grow up very quickly.  After Anna ran away, their mother was even less consistent with her medication.

 

Charlotte’s best friends mother gradually starting assuming responsibility by inviting her to dinner a few nights a week.  Meredith had older twin sisters, so when they grew out of their clothes, they passed them on to Charlotte.  When they went away to college Meredith’s mother invited Charlotte to move in.  The arrangement they had worked out when she was in eighth grade had meant Charlotte would live in Meredith’s house for the school week, and would spend the weekends with her mother.  When the girls were in high school, they enrolled in many different activities, which often involved competitions and concert programs each weekend.  The time she spent with her mother became less planned with each passing year.  Sometimes her mother would turn up in the parking lot before school to pull Charlotte aside to talk with her.  She was always terrified something awful would happen to Charlotte.  At other times, it would be closer to a month before she would see her mother.

 

One afternoon her mother was waiting for her outside of her school. Charlotte could tell she was going through one of her low periods.  Her hair looked like it had not been washed in days, the same for her clothes.  Her eyes were wide with fear and terribly blood-shot.  She was convinced someone was following her and kept looking over her shoulder. Charlotte watched her mother fall apart with fear and a tidal wave of emotion stronger than herself. That afternoon, her mother was desperate trying to convince Charlotte her father had been murdered and the car accident was a cover-up.  She admitted that she felt Anna was alive somewhere and that whoever had taken her would soon come for Charlotte.  She made Charlotte swear to be safe, work hard, and get the hell out of town.

 

After a tearful hug she begged her mother to come back to Meredith’s house and have a decent meal.  She felt so thin and frail.  Before her mother could answer a friend of Charlotte’s came running out of the building calling after her waving a textbook she had forgotten.  She took the book from him and returned to her mother to continue asking her to come to dinner; and just like that the flip had switched. Her mother was no longer crying. She had a dangerous look about her now.  Her eyes were trained on Charlotte and she barely blinked. She gripped Charlotte’s shoulders, adjusted her necklace, and told her to be brave.  That was the last time she saw her mother alive. She committed suicide later that week overdosing on the medication she had stopped taking a month before.

 

Charlotte was vaguely aware that Sherlock had returned to the apartment. She felt him take her pulse and touch her cheek.  In her minds-eye she saw him take the phone from her hand and read the message. He did not try to move or revive her. Perhaps he recognized the signs of someone in deep contemplation; a state he was frequently found in. He made a phone call at some point, sitting next to her on the floor.  She recognized his angry barking tone but still could not shake herself out of the fog.  She heard him leave again soon after with Sophie and the apartment was quiet. The quiet was upsetting. It was not peaceful or still like quiet should be.  It was ominous, unsettling even. 

 

After a few moments or so, or possibly thirty minutes, Charlotte found herself thinking about how she had gotten here to this very spot almost twenty years after she had seen her mother. She heard her words again. Someone murdered her father, taken her sister and would soon be coming for her as well.  Charlotte did not believe in coincidences and had never felt her mothers words could have actually meant something more than the ramblings of a deeply disturbed woman, until now. 

 

After college, she had become a teacher. A few years later after receiving her masters in the field of special education she switched specialties. Immediately following this, she pursued the counseling field.  That was when she met Brooks.  She had been in education for nine years and was looking to make a move to private practice.  Brooks was in fifth grade at the time and had transferred to Charlotte’s school mid-year having just been placed with his new foster family.  It was his foster mother Nancy, who had encouraged her to move to a private practice that way she could still be involved with Brooks’ case. After moving, she worked with a team of people and was assigned a few new cases as well as continuing with Brooks.  Perhaps it was because Brooks was Bi-Polar that Charlotte felt so invested.  The pain of his death nearly crushed her. 

 

Charlotte became aware of a presence next to her at that point.  Sound was slowly returning to her and the objects in the room refocused.  She blinked then and felt a tear fall down her face.  Looking up she saw Sophie sitting on her lap staring at her. The little girl was eerily silent. She just sat looking at Charlotte waiting for her to return to the present.  Charlotte blinked again and breathed deeply.  The little girl smiled then.

 

“There she is!  Sherly, she is back. Here she is.  I found her. Aunty Char.  Nanny Char.  Charlotte it is time for lunch.”  She gave Charlotte a bone-crushing hug and refused to let go.

 

“You haven’t been taking your blood pressure medicine regularly, have you?” Sherlock was sitting in the armchair watching the pair.

“I…I guess not,” she said looking at the clock.  Eleven-thirty.  She gave Sophie an extra squeeze and the little girl got up and ran to the couch to play with her iPad.

 

“You were nearly passed out on the floor when I got back and Sophie was dancing around you.  I read the new text.”

“The text, that’s right,” she said under her breath.  He held out a hand for her to take as she was standing up. He pulled her tightly to him guessing she was experiencing the same sensation she felt the other night. When she breathed deeply against his chest he relaxed a bit.

 

“Nothing is going to happen, you know.  The reason we’re having her party there is so that Mycroft’s team can install security cameras all over the property.  You will be perfectly safe.”  He smoothed her hair back forcing her to make eye contact with him.

 

“No, I’m not worried about that.  I know I’m safe.  I trust you. I am just feeling a little overwhelmed. Her party, all the anticipation, I was feeling light-headed before I even looked at my phone.”  She looked over to the arm of the chair but her phone was no longer sitting there. “You were angry earlier, who did you call?” She said, remembering him taking her pulse while barking out words into the phone she could not understand. 

“I was on with Mycroft because he had not responded to my text,” he said dismissively. 

 

“I’m so close to figuring something out,” she said more to herself than to Sherlock.

“What do you think you’re on to?” He asked pulling her back slightly.

“I’m not really sure.  But I feel like it’s going to change everything.  I am so close to it now,” she said.

“Do you think you’re just not ready to know and that’s why you aren’t there yet?”

“I think I might know, I’m just afraid of_,” she said quietly trailing off.

“What? What are you afraid of?” He asked her.

“Nothing, I have to make Sophie’s lunch.”  She pushed against him to be let go and began to walk away and remembered when she got to the fridge about last night. 

 

“Did you solve the case?  I didn’t hear you come in last night,” she said brightly, trying to draw his attention away from what she had just said.

“Of course I solved it.”  He was still eyeing her up trying to deduce her immediate change in demeanor.

“Alrighty then,” she said grabbing chicken nuggets from the fridge.

 


	25. Bite Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's try to talk about feelings, without talking.

“Are you ready to leave?” He asked thirty minutes later.

“Wait, why?  I thought we didn’t have to go to your parents until this evening?”  Her stomach fluttered nervously.

 

He smiled by way of answering her and left the room.  Charlotte followed him to the back of the apartment where his room was.  She had only been in here a few times to check for illegal substances.  The times she knew for sure they had slept side by side they had always been in her room.   

 

“So, what’s the plan?” She asked leaning against the doorframe.

“Could you be more specific?”

“When we get to your parents house, what is the plan?”

“We will get settled in, my mother will fuss over Sophie and you can begin decorating for tomorrow.”  He was in the process of checking something on his computer.

“What about Mycroft?”

“What about him?”  He snapped his head in her direction and exhaled with exasperation. “Charlotte, are you quite all right?  You’re acting very strange. You also look like you’re going to pass out again.  Do try to be less dramatic please,” he looked at her with narrowed eyes.

 

Charlotte rolled her eyes and said, “Have you and your brother resolved your troubles from earlier in the week?”

 

“Of course not.  Don’t be ridiculous.  There is a lifetime of conflict there that I’m certain should we both stumble upon the Philosopher’s Stone and drink the elixir of eternal life there still would not be time enough to resolve a thing.”  He continued typing something but Charlotte could see a smirk on his face.

 

“You know what I mean,” she said.  Sighing, she entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed.  The mattress was very firm and unyielding. She flopped back to see how comfortable the bed actually was.

 

“Oh, you mean about pretending to have feelings for each other. After my… _altercation_ with Mycroft earlier in the week, and what Lestrade witnessed last night, there is very little doubt that the two of us are in an intimate relationship.” 

 

“Ah yes, last night.  Good times.” She turned her head to look at him.  Even from her angle she could tell he was becoming uncomfortable. He was staring at his computer a little too intently and the tips of his ears were turning red. “Are you sure it was convincing?”

 

“I’ve arranged things so that for the most part, there will be little to no _acting_ involved this weekend,” he said ignoring her comment.

 

“For the most part.  What does that even mean?  Will there or won’t there need to be exaggerated displays of affection?” She lifted her head to look over at him.  He was no longer typing.  With one hand under his chin propping his head up and the other lying on the desk he looked like he was lost in a thought.

 

“I don’t believe there will be anything left to prove,” he said quietly.

“I just asked you two questions and you have only answered one of them,” she said looking back at the ceiling.

“What is your point?”  He asked, still lost in a thought.

“Nothing,” she said.  He closed the lid of the computer and shoved it into his bag.  He strode over to Charlotte slowly, unsure of what the next move should be.

 

“Mary dropped Sophie off earlier for our morning session but called almost an hour later saying we would need to bring Sophie with us tonight and she and John would meet us tomorrow morning.”  She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him better.

“Sherlock? Are you with me?”

 

He blinked several times while standing awkwardly in front of her.  She had never seen this look from him before. He looked greedy with an unfamiliar hunger as he slowly looked her over.  For a very brief moment though when he made eye contact he also looked a little terrified.  She was sure he was debating on what impulse to act on.

“You okay?  Sit down. I won’t bite. I promise,” she patted the bed indicating there was plenty of room.

“You bit me last night,” he said matter-of-factly.  She could not help but blush deeply.  His facial expression was indifferent but when he sat, his back was rigid and his fingers were in constant motion.

 

“Well I’m sorry to tell you that I am not one bit sorry for biting your lip last night.  That was a really good moment.”

He remained sitting on the edge of the bed unsure of how to respond to her comment. He tried to speak twice before she took mercy on him.

 

“Oh, come lay down and relax.  I’m just having fun with you.” Charlotte reached out for his arm. It only took gentle pressure to coax him down to lie beside her.

They stayed like that for a few minutes.  The sounds of Sophie’s game could be heard in the other room as well as different phrases she was stimming on.

 

Charlotte turned to look at the man beside her and contemplated their situation. She reached out to touch the faded bruise on his cheek, again wondering what had provoked him to the point of physical violence.

 

“Your bruise is almost gone.  At some point you will tell me this story, right?  Mycroft really does hit like a girl.” The bed shook with his laughter.  She was stunned never having heard him laugh before.  Having broken the ice a little, he finally let go of some of the tension holding him so rigid.

 

“So, about last night,” he began, but she silenced him by putting a finger on his lips.

“Let’s not worry about that right now.  There are too many other things going on at the moment.” She reached for his hand and gave it a quick squeeze.  He gripped her hand harder as she had begun letting go.

 

“Just one thing though,” he paused, turning his head slightly to see her better. “That was real, right? Last night. You weren’t pretending with me.  Were you?”

 

If she was honest with herself, she had no idea what they were doing. She knew this had been his idea originally and that it was simply an experiment, but the look he was giving her right now would have rendered the entire thing null and void. In his quest for her to teach him about love and relationships, she did not factor in the somewhat unrealistic possibility that he would actually develop feelings for her. This should have comforted her but instead she felt uneasy.

 

She knew all along how her own sensibilities would react.  Any farther into this and she would fall for him completely. She had a choice here; put an end to her feelings now and tell him that yes, she was pretending, or be honest and tell him she had spent the rest of the night imagining how far it would have gone and what it would have been like.  She blushed again at the memory.

 

“Were you?” She asked instead.

“I asked you first,” he turned again slightly and smirked at her.

“Sherlock, have you thought about what happens after this whole thing is over?” Charlotte turned then to face him and propped her head in her hand.

“Meaning?”

“What happens if we go through with your experiment?  What happens when you solve the case and it’s safe for me to leave your apartment?  Then, when the Watson’s are finished with me and I go home, what then? Have you considered any of that yet?”

 

“No,” he paused.  “I admit it never crossed my mind.  I know the case will be solved soon, but it never occurred to me that you would want to leave.  Your home is here _” he stopped speaking and stared hard at the ceiling.

 

“My home is in America.  There will be nothing left for me here when my job for the Watson’s is complete.”

“Don’t be absurd.  There are plenty of opportunities around here,” he argued.  When she did not respond he added, “You would stay here…and keep me. Help keep me sober. My education in the area of physical romance can continue…Mycroft would pay you, of course.”

 

Charlotte snorted at the idea.

“So, you want your brother to pay me to live here, babysit you……… and sleep with you?”

“Well, when you say it that way it sounds bad,” he looked at her.

“How does it sound when you say it?” She asked, looking him in the eyes.

“Well, everything sounds better when I say it,” he said scoffing. He angled his body towards her to look at her better.  “Your American accent makes everything sound tawdry.”

“It does not!”  She pushed him and he grinned at her reaction.  “You’re just choosing to hear it that way because despite my best efforts to give you a well rounded education you’ve managed to become a typical man. Congratulations, you’re an ordinary guy after all.”

 

There was a flash of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. He stared at her a moment longer before speaking.  Though his eyes softened a bit, his body regained all of the tension from earlier.

 

“Hey, what’s wrong?”  She sat up on her elbow to put some height between them.

“Ordinary,” he said as if the word left a foul taste in his mouth. “That’s not a word used very often.  It’s curious you just used it to describe me.”  He was still watching her carefully through narrowed eyes.

 

“I’m sorry, I just meant there is one area you don’t actually surpass the average guy.  You’re _normal_ , whatever that word means,” she said dropping back down and lying on her back to look at the ceiling.  “You’re human, it’s sort of a relief actually,” she said turning towards him and smiled.  He remained still.  They laid in silence for several moments.  She decided it was not going to get any less awkward and she began rising to leave the room and check on Sophie.

 

“You never answered my question from before.”  He touched her arm gently to keep her next to him. “Were you pretending last night?” He leaned closer to her, his eyes once again becoming hard.

“I don’t really see why it matters one way or the other.” She decided she was not ready to have this conversation just yet and again made a move to get up.

 

In a predatory move he rolled over pinning her in place with his body. He used his hands to prop himself up keeping the bulk of his weight off her.  

“What are you doing--” she began, moving her hands to his chest in the space he had left between them.  He was trying to make that space smaller if not non-existent. 

“Were you or weren’t you?” He asked her again.

She struggled against him not out of fear but out of discomfort. Her face felt hot and she could feel her pulse quicken.  She could not arrange her features to play indifferent as easily as she knew he could. She was not ready to give him the power of knowing her feelings.  He repeated himself, more insistently.

“ _Were you, or weren’t you pretending last night?”_

“I was………not acting,” she said hesitantly with defeat not looking at him.

“Charlotte,” he said in an attempt to make her look him in the eye.

“What?” She said with exasperation.  “Why are you on me?  What are you doing?  Sophie is twenty-five feet away.”

“Charlotte, look at me.”

She took a deep breath and made eye contact.

“Neither was I,” he said looking down at her his eyes becoming warmer.

“What? Neither were you what?  Can you get off me now?  Sherlock, please.”

 

“Charlotte!” He said speaking above a whisper, moving his arms under her back to bring her closer. 

“Last night.  I wasn’t pretending.”

 

“I know,” she exhaled all the air from her lungs when she took in his expression.  “I know you weren’t.” She stopped pushing against his chest.  Once she had eliminated the fight he stopped pushing to get closer. 

 

“Well, what does that tell you?”  He asked, lowering his voice again.

“I’ve already said.  It tells me you’re a guy.  Like any other guy. Now let me up, would you?”  She tried to leverage herself out from under him by raising her foot to the bed.   She realized too late she got herself into a more compromising position that he fully took advantage of eager to get closer so she could fully appreciate what the friction had done.

He stared at her intently waiting for her to catch up.

“Oh……” she said slowly.  “But just because we both were present in that moment, it might not have gone any farther than--” her words were silenced by his kiss.  It was gentle and chaste, but it was enough to tell him what he needed to know.  When he pulled back she kept her eyes closed, willing herself not to blush; not to feel.   She was having trouble concentrating though and realized her hands had moved to his neck and her fingers gripped his shirt collar. 

 

“Are you okay,” he asked whispering. 

“Yes, but I’m getting a little claustrophobic.”

He chuckled and rolled over bringing her with him.  His fingers were twined in her hair and he brought her back to him to kiss her again when his phone chimed with a new text. Charlotte began to pull away so he could get it, but he retightened his hold on her.

“No, I will get that in a moment.”  He brought her to him once more and as their lips met he gently bit her.

“Hey!”

“Payback,” he said reclaiming her lips and rolling her onto her back. When they heard giggling at the doorway a few minutes later they broke apart breathless.

 

“Nanny Char is kissing Sherly!  Mrs. Hudson!  Mrs. Hudson. She luuuurrvs him. Sherly luuuurrvs my Nanny. They’re gonna get maaaaarried.” Sophie came bounding into the room and jumped onto the bed.

 

When his phone chimed again she was finally able to extricate herself from his embrace.

 

About earlier, please hold off a little bit longer. I want to be the one to do it. –MW

  And don’t forget the thing. –MW

 

“What’s the thing?  What’s going on?” Charlotte asked, then immediately chided herself for being _‘that’_ girl.  He smirked at her ignoring her comment.

 

“Sophie, go get Mrs. Hudson and tell her it’s time to leave.”  Sherlock picked the little girl up kissed her head and set her down again so she could run off to find Mrs. Hudson.

 

“Ready or not,” he said grabbing his bag and offering Charlotte his hand.

“Not," she said with dread, giving him her hand.


	26. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to the Holmes' family house, everyone could use a sensory break.

Charlotte knew nothing of vehicles.  What pulled up somewhat resembled a Hummer, but looked less like the lego shape of one and more like a jeep.  Mrs. Hudson joined the queue out front with her bags.  As the drivers door opened Charlotte audibly gasped. The homeless man from the park jumped out and shook Sherlock’s hand.  Today though he was dressed like a somewhat respectable young man.

 

“Miss Charlotte,” he said opening the back door for her and grabbing her bags to put in the back.

“William.” She lifted Sophie in and Sherlock grabbed the little girl from the other side to fasten her into her car seat.

“What’s he doing driving the car?  I thought you would be driving us!” She said with concern.

“Relax, Billy is completely sober and an excellent driver.  Aren’t ya Billy?” Sherlock called out mockingly.

“Yes,” Bill said, grumbling that no one seemed to ever call him by his proper name.

 

***

After an hour tensions were running high.  Sophie was becoming more agitated and Charlotte was finding it more difficult to calm her.  Sherlock had spent most of the journey on his phone.  It was turned on silent so she had no idea if he was actually having a text conversation or just attempting to avoid having to help with Sophie.  Mrs. Hudson and William were engaged in a heated debate about the law and drug possession. The former favored a harsher penalty while the latter argued that everyone had the right to make a living using the talents they were born with.

 

Charlotte’s phone chimed with a new text message.

 

When you get a minute, can you call me? –Molly

_Kind of surrounded right now. -C_

 

“Who’s that from?”  Sherlock asked sharply.

“It’s Molly, relax she just wants me to call her.”  The conversation from the front of the car had stopped and William was watching the exchange in the backseat through the mirror. Looking back to Sherlock she noticed him give an imperceptible nod to the reflection in the rearview mirror.

 

“What does Molly Hooper need to talk about with you?” He asked still with the same accusatory tone.

“I have no idea really, I have not talked to her since the day of the dress shop thing.  She brought me home that day, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” he said still looking at her suspiciously.

 

“William, I think we could all use a bit of a break, can you pull over?” Charlotte had already removed her seatbelt. 

“He most certainly cannot.”  Sherlock’s tone of anger was directed more towards the driver than to Charlotte, but she flinched anyway.

Fortunately, at that moment Sophie chose to begin a very high-pitched maniacal laughter.  Charlotte sat back in her seat and smiled to herself as she looked out the window. Mrs. Hudson tried in vain to calm the little girl.  It took William exactly four minutes to break.  He apologized to Sherlock and pulled the car over, turned off the engine and got out of the car.  The moment the car stopped, Sophie stopped laughing and smiled at Charlotte.

 

“Can we run?  Nanny can we run? I want to run. Can we run?” 

“Yes, Sophie, let’s go run.”  Charlotte unbuckled the child’s car seat and guided her out of the car. William had chosen to pull over next to an enormous field lined with trees. The moment Sophie’s patent leather shoes hit the ground she went tearing off into the field running in large circles with her arms stretched wide pretending to be a butterfly.

 

Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson got out of the car and watched her for a moment.

“Sherly run!  Sherly run! Nanny make Sherly run!”

“Sophie you’re going to have to chase him.  He won’t do it on his own,” Charlotte sat on the hood of the car and watched Sophie chase after Sherlock.  Mrs. Hudson laid a blanket for herself in the shade and pulled out a book.  William busied himself with pretending to look at a map.  Charlotte knew immediately when she saw him his main focus this weekend was to be an extra set of eyes on her.

 

She got off the hood of the car and began to walk slowly into the field. Sherlock and Sophie were about one hundred and fifty yards away when her phone rang.  He stopped immediately looking over to her then to William. 

 

“It’s Mary, stop worrying!” She called out to them.  In an attempt to ease their fear she said “Hi Mary!” very brightly into the phone.  The others in the field seemed to relax a little, but William’s eyes never left her a retreating figure once.

 

“Are you still surrounded?”  Molly asked.

“We are in a field.  Sophie is running, Sherlock is half-heartedly chasing her while turning every thirty seconds to see what I am doing, his minion drug-buddy has been staring at me since we all got out of the car and Mrs. Hudson is dramatically fanning herself.”

“Okay, I’ll do the talking.  Just keep your responses as vague as you can.”

“Sure, that sounds doable.”  Charlotte said nodding her head vigorously trying not to panic.

“I’ve been doing a little _digging_ around and found something you may be interested in.”

“Yes?”

“Or, maybe you won’t.  Now I’m not so sure I should have called.  Maybe interested is the wrong word.”

“ _Oh?”_ Charlotte asked, beginning to become impatient with the woman on the other end.

“Well, I’ve been working out a theory and I need your help with some of the details.”

 

After a long pause Molly asked, “Charlotte?  Are you still there?”

“Yes…” she said hoping Molly remembered she could not speak freely.

“Oh! Right, I forgot. Okay, well I ran a DNA test the day you got hurt at the dress shop.  And, well…your last name isn’t really Hastings, is it?  You were adopted,” Molly said in a rush.

 

“Uh, yes and no.”  Charlotte’s mind was working furiously to stay with Molly.  Looking around her she saw that William was pretending to search for the best location for optimum reception for his mobile phone and Sherlock was paying less attention to Sophie who was still spinning around. She had found a stick and was getting ready to charge into the trees.  Panicking she jumped and pointed to her gesturing to Sherlock to stop her.

 

Forgetting Charlotte, both he and William charged after Sophie.

“Alright Molly I have about fifteen seconds before this break is over. I have my mother’s maiden name. My father’s last name was Armstrong. What is this all about? What is going on? And why on earth did you run a DNA test on me?”

“Charlotte…I think...I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think I’ve found—oh!” Molly sounded like she had just been startled.

“Molly? What’s going on?” Charlotte spoke quietly so Mrs. Hudson would not hear.

Whispering, Molly said, “Mycroft just walked into the lab.”

“Molly, what is going on?”

“Charlotte, this case is bigger than you can even imagine.”

Charlotte could hear Mycroft’s drawling voice in the background trying to get the pathologists attention.

“Molly, what did you find?” Charlotte asked breathlessly.

Molly must have covered the receiver with her hand to mute the sound of her voice as she hurriedly whispered, “I think I found your Father.”

 

A blood-curdling scream rang through the air just then propelling Charlotte forward, out of her shock, and out of the field towards the trees abandoning her phone somewhere behind her.


	27. For the Most Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte meets Mr. & Mrs. Holmes...

Sherlock had a firm hold on the inconsolable child.  When Sophie saw Charlotte she began kicking against him to go to her instead.

“What the hell happened?” She asked breathless running towards the trio. When she was close enough, Sophie threw herself towards Charlotte, causing Sherlock to lose balance. He released the little girl into Charlotte’s arms and looked back to the ground.

 

On the ground was the body of a partially decomposed fox. His paw had gotten caught in a metal-clawed trap.  Taking in the sight, Charlotte bit back the bile rising in her throat and held the child tighter.  Moving her away from the sight and back into the clearing Charlotte murmured soothing words to her and rubbed her back.

 

When they made it out to the field again, Charlotte lowered the little girl to the ground and kneeled in front of her.  Sophie was still in tears, but she was no longer screaming.

“Sophie, you’re okay.  You’re not hurt.”  Charlotte inspected the child to be sure she was indeed okay.

“The fox, Nanny.  The fox. Nanny.  Billy said creatures ate the fox.  They ate his face Nanny.  His face!  The creatures will get me too, Nanny!”

Sherlock and William walked out of the tree line at that moment and she sent them a scathing look.

 

“M’sorry ‘bout that Miss Charlotte.  The little wee one found it while we was chasing her,” William said.

“Were.” Both Sherlock and Charlotte said.

“Wha’?” He looked confused.

“Are you sure he is sober today?” She asked Sherlock filled with anger. Before he could answer though she rounded on the former junkie.

“How dare you tell her what happened!”

“Now, Charlotte wait a minute, telling her is part of educating her. She is learning,” Sherlock interrupted.

“Learning?” She was so angry her voice trembled. 

“Of course, she is just upset for right now.  It will pass.”  His face was stern but his eyes expressed a hint of regret and possible fear.

“Oh you think it will, do you?”  She said giving him an appraising look. Sophie began to wail again feeling the tension rising between them.  She went back to the child and lifted her.  “I hope you two weren’t planning on sleeping much tonight,” Charlotte said looking over her shoulder at the men as she walked back to the car.

 

Mrs. Hudson came running up to the girls with Charlotte’s phone in her hand.

“What is going on? Is she okay?  Is she?  Charlotte, what is happening?  Here is your phone. You dropped it in the field.” Mrs. Hudson handed her the phone and placed a nurturing hand on the little girls back.

“Mrs. Hudson the fox is dead.  Billy said he got eaten.  Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson.  The fox got his paw stuck and got eaten.”

“Oh dear!” Mrs. Hudson gave her a shocked look.  Charlotte lifted her hand and waved in the direction of the two men following her, rolling her eyes.

“Sherlock Holmes!  What have you done now?”  Charlotte walked back to the car while listening to Mrs. Hudson yell at both Sherlock and William.

Half an hour later, they were on the road moving again.  Sophie had fallen into a fitful sleep. Charlotte did not try to wake her. She knew already she would be up all night anyway.  When they had gotten settled in the car again, Charlotte looked at her phone to see a message from Molly that simply had the words, “don’t tell anyone!” and it had all come back to her. 

 

Charlotte’s father had died when she was seven.  Charlotte had been asleep on the couch with Anna when the policeman came to the door to tell her mother about the accident.  She had very blurry memories from that time. He had always been happy. He held their family together. In a fit of grief her mother had destroyed all of his pictures.  When she struggled to remember her father, all that she could call to mind were his bright blue eyes. 

 

All that Charlotte had was a very incomplete memory of being pushed on the swings at the park near their house.  She remembered screaming with laugher as her father pushed her higher.

“Higher Daddy!  Higher!”

“No way! Any higher and you’ll fly away!”

“Pleeeeeeeeeease?”

“Sorry Charlie.”

 

***

She was aware of someone tugging at her hand and calling her name. She blinked and looked around flinching at the sound of the car doors closing.  Sophie was holding Mrs. Hudson’s hand talking about being a princess.  All thoughts of the fox removed for the time being.  The car was empty except for herself.  Sherlock was standing outside the car leaning over her through the open door.

 

“What did Molly tell you?” He was speaking softly and reached up to wipe her face.

“Nothing, she…she…wait how did you know I was talking to Molly?” She pushed his hand away and wiped at her face, fixing her eye makeup, assuming it was a mess.

“Mycroft.”

“Remind me to make another batch of banana nut bread for him when we get back to Baker Street.”

He reached out to smooth her hair back and kept his hand on the back of her neck.

“You need to get your game face on now, Charlotte.  We’re here and I need for you to focus again. I promise we will get the chance to talk as soon as this introduction is over. I imagine you have a lot of questions and I want to answer them for you.” He attempted a smile, but it did not reach his eyes.  He was keeping something from her and seemed very uneasy at the prospect of having to tell her.

“I know.  I’m focusing.” She grabbed her bag and took his hand as she got out of the car.

 

“Charlotte,” he said hesitating holding on to her hand.

“What is it?” She looked at him trying to understand his sudden change in demeanor.  “You’re not losing your nerve now, are you?”  She leaned closer to him so she could speak discreetly with him.

“It’s just, I’ve never brought anyone home--” He looked at his feet and shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“Hey,” she said lifting her hand to his face, “you’re not doubting me now are you?  Just think about earlier today, or better yet,” she smiled wickedly, “think of last night and what could have happened had Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade stayed out.” When he cracked a smile she hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him in for a dizzying kiss.

 

As the group walked up to the house an older couple came striding from the house arm in arm.

“Mr. & Mrs. Holmes,” William said and received warm embraces from the couple. 

“Mrs. Hudson, as always thank you for watching out for my boy, I know he’s nothing but trouble.”  Mrs. Holmes embraced the other woman and then lifted to her toes to see past the two.

“There she is!” She smacked her husband’s arm and pushed past William and Mrs. Hudson and came for Sophie who had run back to Charlotte to take her other hand.

Charlotte beamed at Sophie and brought her hand forward to move the little girl closer to the older woman.

“Gram! Gram!  This is Nanny.  Nanny Charlotte.  She is Charlie.  Aunt Charlie!”

“What? No,” Charlotte looked at Sherlock who grimaced at her and let her hand go.

When she turned back around she saw Mrs. Holmes kiss the top of the little girls head and reach for Charlotte. 

“Let me see it then,” she grabbed for Charlotte’s left hand, confusing her more.

“Mrs. Holmes, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Charlotte said trying to give an awkward left-handed hand shake taking pity believing the older woman was simply confused.

“Don’t be ridiculous dear, call me Mother now.”  Charlotte’s mouth fell at the nerve of this woman and fell farther still when she saw the engagement ring on the third finger of her left hand.

“Oh Sherl, it’s gorgeous!”  She kissed Charlotte’s cheek and pulled her son into a hug when Mr. Holmes approached her.

 

“ _You_ are gorgeous my dear, the ring further illuminates your beauty by sparkling in the sunlight.” Mr. Holmes was much more gentle and calm with Charlotte and gently grasped her arms, not forcing a hug.  She immediately saw Sherlock within the man.  There was a quiet gentle side to Sherlock she saw once a day, usually around Sophie, or in a very quiet unguarded moment with herself.

 

“Aunt Charlie, Aunty.  Aunty.” Sophie must have been included in this plan to switch to calling her ‘Aunt’ so quickly.

 

The next thirty minutes were a blur of exclamations and hugs. Sophie was so excited with everyone else’s excitement she was practically screaming.  After a bit Sherlock picked up on her anxiety and suggested his mother show her to the room she would be staying in and she led Charlotte up to a sparsely decorated bedroom.

 

“He looks well.  You’ve been good for my boy.  He does not trust so easily but he seems to be completely taken with you.  He has such a warm heart and he rarely shows it. You do love him, don’t you?” Mrs. Holmes was an intimidating force.  Charlotte felt her face warm and she looked away.

“Of course,” Charlotte looked openly at the older woman and smiled.

“Get some rest, dear.  You look exhausted.  Supper won’t be for another three hours.  I’ll take Sophie to the store with me so you can rest.  I don’t want you worrying your pretty little head about a thing. I’ll bring Mrs. Hudson and William with me.”  She touched Charlotte’s face, smiled warmly and walked out closing the door gently.


	28. Nothing To Prove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte wakes up to a nearly empty house.

Charlotte went to the bathroom to collect her thoughts.  The room was small, but it was largely due to the enormous bathtub.  She checked for the shower hook-up and was grateful to find one.  She did not much like taking baths for the sake of bathing.  She sat on the edge to focus.  She spent a few moments staring at the foreign object on her ring finger.  She had never before worn an engagement ring before and could not quite get used to the sight of it.  Even though it was all part of the ‘story’ Sherlock was selling to his brother and her stalker, she could not help but wonder why it was a new ring.  This was not the ring she had found a couple of weeks ago in the back of a drawer. She tried to remember when he must have put it on but chalked it up to one of his sneakier moments. She just hoped she would not have to tell the story of how he proposed.

 

She went to the mirror and gaped at her reflection.  She did look exhausted.  She readjusted her eyeliner and took a moment to brush her hair out and then put it up in a sloppy bun.  Leaving the bathroom she flopped down on the bed and brought the ring back into her eye line.  It was heavier than the white-gold one she had found in the drawer.  Platinum, maybe?  The diamond was emerald cut with three small circular diamonds on each side.  A few minutes later she heard a door close downstairs and immediately following that, the closing of car doors and an engine roar to life.

 

***

 

Charlotte stirred when she heard the chime of a phone message coming through.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said realizing she was tangled up with Sherlock. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize I had moved over to your space.”  She made a move to roll back to her side when he held her tighter and sighed at her confusion. 

“Charlotte, we sleep like this almost every single night.” He looked at her shocked face.

“No we don’t!  I stay on my side and you on yours.  That was the deal, the only reason you were ever allowed to sleep with me. You always said it was what made you relax because you _had_ to stay still, you _had_ to stay on your own side!”

“And yet, every night, you end up in this exact same place.” He smiled into her hair as he held her tighter.  “Well, almost.”

 

“What do you mean?” She pulled away a little to look at him, surprised to see him look sheepish.

He took a breath to begin, and she bit back a laugh at his discomfort.

“Tell me!”  She sat up a little more looking at him with curiosity.  He sighed deeply and gave her a silent pleading look.

“Come on, Sherlock.  There are so many other questions I could have started with,” she held up her hand for him saying, “This is definitely one of the major ones.”  He nodded and sat up a little more.

 

“Okay. Just, just…” He sighed again and looked at her hands.  “Since the second night you slept at Baker Street, the night you got drun--”

“Yes, yes, I remember.  Moving on…” she prompted him.

“You asked me to stay with you that night and I did.  It was the first time in a really long time I actually restfully slept for a couple of hours in a row.  I stayed on my side and you yours.  At one point though, you woke up.  You touched my face and put your hand in mine. I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night.”  She sat up straighter shocked that he was opening up so much.  He looked at her briefly before continuing.

“The next time, I snuck into your room, and you were already asleep. You’d kicked the covers off and lay curled up.  I slipped onto the bed just to get some rest.  You sleep walk in a manner of speaking, did you know?  Well I guess you do, obviously why would you have concocted that booby-trap with the marbles. Anyway, just as I had fallen asleep, I felt your hand on me.”

“Oh, no!” Charlotte gasped and began to apologize.

“No, listen.  I tried to stay still, but curiosity got the better of me so I opened my eyes.  You had your hand on my chest,” he said taking her hand and guiding her to repeat the routine.  “You had your hand under my shirt though, and you found my scar.”

She felt it at that moment under the fabric of his shirt and looked back at his face stunned.

He just smiled at her sadly and continued talking.

“I was sure you were awake, your eyes were open and you were sitting up, but you just touched the scar with your fingertips, tracing it slowly, then laid your palm flat on top of it.  You moved my arm so that you could lie on my chest and you fell back asleep almost immediately. You’ve done that every time we’ve slept next to each other.”  He stopped talking and hesitantly looked at her.

She shook her head not able to find any words.

“The ring was the last bit of evidence we needed.  I had intended to tell you about it and plan a whole proposal scene but it just felt too staged.  I figured if we came already ‘engaged’ it would seem more authentic.”

 

“I see…can I ask why you didn’t just use the one that was in the back of the desk in Baker Street?”

“You can, but I don’t know if you’re going to like the answer much.”

“Try me.”

“I lied earlier.”

“About…?”

“I have considered, at great length what happens when this case is solved. I always knew you would leave. Of course you would. Even though you never seem to be outraged by my ridiculous behavior, you would have felt your job was complete and left.  I just know I feel more…stable…now. I don't know. I’m not sure what will happen when you’re gone.  I thought that maybe if you really did fall for me, you would stay.  In all of those ridiculous movies you’ve made me watch there is always that moment where the love interest is about to leave because of some revelation and a major declaration is made at the last moment, changing her mind and she stays.”

 “Love interest?  This morning you wanted me to be a hooker.”

“No, you know what I mean.  I like you being there in the flat.  We wouldn’t need to be physical at all.  Your company, is comforting to me in a way I haven’t felt since…”

“Since John lived with you?”

He just nodded his head then looking at his hands.

“Why did you feel you needed to go this route?” She asked lifting her hand again.

“I knew you had already seen the old ring and deduced the only reason for me having it was because of a case.”  He chanced another look at her and realized that was not the correct answer to the question.

“No, I mean, what aren’t you telling me?  What is so bad you felt the need to go to _this_ length to keep me here?”

He gave her an appraising look and held his breath. 

“What did Molly tell you?”

When Charlotte did not respond he exhaled slowly, gearing up for something big.

“She told you she found a relative of yours, didn’t she?”

“Yes. Molly said she believed she might have found my father.”  She refused to break eye contact with him, no matter how difficult she felt it.

“Alive?”

“Mycroft interrupted our conversation, so I don’t know.  All she said was she wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but that she believed she had found my father.”

Sherlock nodded his head seemingly aware of the staring contest she had begun with him. “So she knows you use your mother’s maiden name.”  It was not a question.

“She said the case was bigger than I could have ever imagined. What is happening, Sherlock? You told me a while ago how important I was in this case _‘more important than you could possibly know’_ is what you said.  Can you tell me yet?”

“I can’t tell you yet.  But you will know soon.  I promise.”

“But it’s big?”

He broke eye contact then and nodded his head.  Taking a deep breath he looked back at her and squinted his eyes, debating on what to say next.

 

“I will not put you in harm.”

“I know that,” she said but he interrupted her.

“I will make sure you’re safe.  I can’t tell you the entire thing, but I will tell you, I have known about you a lot longer than you realize.  You’ve been in danger a lot longer as well.”  She looked around the room, mind frantically working hard to make a connection with everything that had happened that day and she once again revisited her mother’s claim that someone would be coming after her.

 

“I’m here because of you.” She said thinking aloud.  “You brought me here? To London, I mean?”

The guilty look on his face gave her the answer she had expected. She nodded her head and looked back into the space of the room.  She lay back down on his chest and just listened to his heart race. His arms twitched by her side unsure of what to do. 

 

“I had to.”

“I know,” she said.  “ _Tell your boyfriend, time is running out.”_ She quoted the text she had received earlier. 

“Yes,” he said sounding far away.

Her hand sought out its usual resting place and she could feel the tension slowly leave his body as he raised his arms to hold her against him.

 

“Am I going to be really upset with you?”

“If I have learned anything from your movies, then yes, you will probably project your anger for someone else onto me because I will be the easy target. I’m closest.  But, you always manage to surprise me, so I could actually be very wrong.  Your ability to connect the dots thus far has surpassed my predictions.  I underestimated you greatly.  My guess is I won’t even get to tell you the rest of it.  You will have figured most of it out on your own.” 

 

He was still filled with a fair amount of tension.  They laid there silently listening to the sounds from outside the window.  Gunshots could be heard in the distance.

 

“How long before your mother returns and dinner happens?”

“At least another hour, maybe an hour and a half, if Sophie persuades her to buy ice cream.”

“Okay,” she said sitting up and looking at him with narrowed eyes. Making up her mind she slipped out of his arms and walked over to her suitcase.

 

“Where are you going?”

Looking out the window she saw William and Mr. Holmes in the distance walking the length of the meadow on the side of the home.  They had hunting rifles on their shoulders and were headed into the woods.  Smirking, she shook her head and internally said, “ _what the hell.”_

“To take a bath.”

 

She looked back to his form on the bed.  He watched her closely as she crossed the room to the bathroom to start the bath.  He reached for his phone and updated Mary who had messaged earlier wondering how his mother had reacted to the news.  When Charlotte reentered the room, he had barely noticed.  It was not until she turned the lock to their room that he spoke.

“I hardly think you have to worry about privacy with me sitting right here, no one will disturb you.”  When he did not look up from his phone, she approached his side of the bed. He took a double take. She stood before him wearing the same robe she had the first time she had slept over. 

She was much too modest to stand before him exposed, but the robe left little to the imagination.  She slowly took the phone out of his hand and put it on silent.  His eyes never left hers and she smiled a little under the intense gaze.

 

She tossed the phone back to the bedspread and took both his hands in hers pulling him to sit on the edge.

“Come with me, please.”

He tried to speak, but his mouth had gone completely dry. He tried once more but failed.

“Do you trust me?” She asked, letting go of his hands and touching the side of his face, waiting for him to indicate his comfort level.

“Yes, of course,” he said standing.  “But does this really seem like a good idea?”

She laughed at that, surprising him.  She lifted her hands and begin unbuttoning his shirt. “Probably not, but that’s what will make it so much fun.”  When the shirt was unbuttoned, she finally saw the scar her fingers had been unconsciously seeking for the past two weeks.  Touching it gently she looked back up to his face. His eyes closed as she traced the scar with her first finger.

“How did it happen?”

“I...I was shot,” he stuttered but she guessed it had less to do with the old injury and more to do with the new situation he found himself in.

“When?”

"Si..Six years, six years ago."

"Who?"

“Um…I…uh…I shouldn’t…”

His breath caught and he was unable to continue speaking when she leaned in and kissed the scar.  His hands reflexively moved to her head as he lowered his to capture her mouth with his own.  Releasing her when they both were gasping for air he repeated his question. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No.”

“Then let’s just take this one step at a time.  No pressure.  It’s just a bath.”

“That’s not what I meant exactly,” he pulled her back slightly to see her better realizing as he did so the belt of her robe had loosened and he could see more of her skin. In a clumsy effort to look away and readjust her robe he made it worse and the belt was almost completely undone.  She grabbed the fabric together as she laughed at his reaction.

“Sherlock, the house has been purposefully emptied with the two of us remaining. _Newly engaged,”_ she hooked her first finger on the top of his trousers and began pulling him with her as she backed up towards the bathroom. “I can’t very well pass up on this opportunity.  I can’t let you go down to dinner looking as pale as you are right now, either. What kind of fiancé would I be?”

“Charlotte,” he barely choked out.  “I did that so you wouldn’t have to pretend this weekend.  I told you there is nothing left to prove.”

 

She let go of him and raised her hands to release her hair. When her hands moved to the belt of her robe he took a step towards her about to say something but no words came out.  She waited with the belt in her hand.  He stood there for a beat before telling his brain to take a back seat for a while. Reaching out for her face he brought her closer to kiss her again.  She kept the kiss short by pulling away and gave him a mischievous smile.

 

“Now who said anything about proving something?  All I said was I’m going to take a bath.” She turned away from him then, throwing her robe to the floor.


	29. Rock, Paper, Scissors

“Was that good?” Sherlock asked eagerly.

“Meh.”

“What does that mean?  Is that American?” Sherlock gaped at her.

“Honestly?”

“Yes!”

“It was a little weak.  You could have done better.”

Sherlock paced around the room with frustration. 

 

“What could I possibly have done differently?”  He came to an abrupt stop in front of Charlotte, towering over her.

“What do you think I’m going to tell you?”  Charlotte looked up from the sink.

 

Sherlock set the violin on the table and stormed out of the room. He had just spent the past ten minutes playing Sophie’s birthday composition.  Charlotte smiled to herself and went back to the dishes.

 

“Tha’s not very nice, ya know,” William was sitting at the table curling ribbons for the bags of party favors.

 

“He’s fine.”

“He looks upset to me.”

“Okay, you know how, when someone gives you a compliment, you find yourself trying to outdo the work that got you the attention in the first place and continue to seek approval from that person after you’ve impressed them once?”

“No,” William continued his task not looking at her.  She made a non-committal sound and dried her hands on the towel. She came to the table and sat across from him inspecting the bags he had already finished.

 

“You’re doing a really good job with those ribbons.  I love how you’re combining the colors on the bags like that. I never would have thought to do that.  And you said you had no experience with this type of stuff before.  You’re a natural!”

 

“Thanks. Didja see what I did with the candy?  I matched the__” He stopped speaking when she pointedly looked at him.

 

“Okay. I see what ya did there.”

“Sherlock has reached his compliment quota for the day.  Any more and he will become insufferable. I would like very much to not have to deal with that this evening.”  She stood and made her way around the table, smacking William upside the head when he snorted at her comment. 

 

“Oh good.  The physical violence portion of the weekend has begun,” drawled Mycroft sauntering into the room. “Miss Hastings you’re looking well.  Some might even say you’re glowing.”

 

“What’s up, Mycroft?  You’ve got a little something on your chin, just there,” she said pointing to her own chin to indicate the affected area.  “Oh, no.  No, I see. Gee, what happened to you? The whole left side of your face is messed up!  Did you run into a door or something?” 

 

“Or something.”  He said, darkly.

“Hmm, I’ve heard that can start happening to people your age. They begin to lose sight of things right in front of their faces.  You should really get your eyes checked.”  Her patronizing tone had William snorting again, but he instantly looked away when she glared at him.

 

Before Mycroft could make a comment a sharp scream could be heard from overhead. Charlotte exhaled with irritation and looked at William, who hung his head in shame.

 

Looking back at her he bit his lip with concentration and presented his fist. When she presented hers, they proceeded to allow chance to determine who would attend to Sophie. Pumping their fists three times, Charlotte drew rock and William drew scissors.

 

“Your turn!  And remember, you must get the voices right in the story, or she will get herself all wound up trying to do it for you.  Then she’ll never get to sleep.”

 

William slowly got out of the chair and began to leave the room. Calling after him she said, “And under NO circumstances will you engage in conversations of death, decomposition or mutilation!” He could be heard grumbling that he was not an idiot but she chose to ignore him.

 

In response to Mycroft’s raised brow, she said, “Sophie saw a decomposing fox today.  Its paw was stuck in a trap.  William felt the need to explain to her what happened.”

 

“His name is Bill.”

“So, then I should begin calling you Mike?”

“Absolutely not!” He scoffed at her.

Charlotte smiled in response.

 

“Where is my mother?”  Mycroft sat down, picking a piece of candy from the bowl.

“Boozin’ it up out back with Mrs. Hudson and your father, talking about the plans for the garden for tomorrow.  Your brother__”

 

“Yes, I’ve already seen him.  I have been informed I should congratulate you,” he said sneering.

“No.”

He looked victorious in that instant.  “You say congratulations to the future groom and you extend best wishes to the future bride.”

“I hardly see what difference that makes, seeing that neither of you will actually be stepping into those roles.”  He continued to sneer for a moment longer then lowered his eyes to the ring on her finger.  There was an imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth, and the muscles in his face lost a bit of tension. 

 

Charlotte sat silently observing his attempt to recover from the shock he had experienced.  Whatever had surprised him, it convinced him to switch tactics with her.

 

“What date shall I save?”  He asked, inspecting a crumb on the placemat.

“Hmm, I always liked the idea of eloping. So I think it’s very safe to say, you’re off the hook.”

 

She resumed the task of curling ribbons and tying them to the favor bags.

 

“Hmm,” he said prepared to argue with her, but no words came to mind so he simply exhaled.

 

“Would you have expected something more dramatic and drawn out?” Sherlock walked in and placed a hand on Charlotte’s back, kissing the top of her head.

 

“No, not at all, though if you both do go through with this, you know that Mother will be an absolute nightmare about it.”

 

“Of course.”  Sherlock remained behind her and placed both hands on her shoulders.

 

“What am I going to be a nightmare about Mike?”  Mrs. Holmes walked in with glassy eyes.  Mrs. Hudson followed and giggled as she stumbled over her own two feet.

 

“Really, Mother.” Mycroft said with exasperation.

 

“Charlotte, the little one is making Billy cry,” Sherlock leaned down to say quietly in her ear.

“Good. It serves him right!” He squeezed her shoulders and she understood the cue to leave the room.  “Oh, alright.  But I will not be doing this every time she gets upset this evening.” Charlotte stood and began to make her way around the table.  Doubling back, she leaned over Mycroft and laid something on the table in front of him.

 

“I think you’ll find your security team misplaced one of their cameras when they were setting up for the weekend.  I’m sure these are quite expensive.  I hope you have a proper inventory and will be able to return this to an area that actually needs security.  I can assure you, I’m _very_ well protected.” 

 

She winked and Sherlock and left the room, leaving him blushing and Mycroft white as a sheet.  As she ascended the stairs she could hear Mrs. Holmes yelling, _“What did you do!”_ to Mycroft.  That alone made it worth the conversation she would be forced to have later that night.


	30. Divenire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Divenire, to become.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be in my head space, or the atmosphere Charlotte and Sherlock find themselves in when they are together in the meadow, the album "Divenire" by Ludovico Einaudi was my soundtrack.

“Where is Sherly?”

“Downstairs.”

“Where is Sherly?  Where is he?”

“He is _downstairs._ ”

 

“Where is Mummy and Daddy?”

“They are not here.”

 

“Where is Charlie?”

“There’s no one ‘ere by that name lit’le one.”

 

“Where is Sherly?”

“He is _still_ downstairs _.”_

 

“Where is Mrs. Hudson?”

“I don’ know.”

 

“Where is the fox?”

“The fox is dead.”

 

“Where did he go?”

“I don’ know.”

 

“Billy where is the fox?  Where is he? WHERE IS HE?”

“He’s bloody well dead, ain’t he!”

 

“WILLIAM!”

“I’m sorry, bu’ she won’ stop askin’ questions.  I tried.  I did.  I really did. Bu’ she just won’ stop.”

 

“Just go,” Charlotte said stepping away from the door to let him pass.

“I’m sorry.”

“Go!” Charlotte took a deep breath and closed the door.

 

“Come here little one.”  Charlotte went to sit on the bed and pulled the child into her lap.  Sophie’s head rested on Charlotte’s chest. Charlotte wrapped the little girl up, pulling her legs in turning Sophie into a human egg.  She could feel Sophie relax immediately. Her questions ceased and her breathing slowed.  Charlotte held her in this position for three minutes.  She released her slowly and waited.

 

“Char, the fox is dead.  He got stuck.  His paw got hurt and he couldn’t go home.  Where is the fox?  He is sad.”

“Shh, I know you’re sad baby girl.  I am very sad too.”  She grabbed the hairbrush on the end table and began to work through the tangles in Sophie’s hair.

“Is Sherly sad too, Nanny?” 

 

Before Charlotte could respond, Sherlock came sweeping into the room and flopped down on the other side of the pair.

“Of course, I’m sad little one.”  He opened his arms for her to crawl into. 

“Sherly the fox is sleeping.  Where is the fox?”

“Sophie, the fox is dead.  He is not sleeping.  He is no longer conscious.  He is now in a state of nonbeing.”

“Sherlock,” Charlotte hissed at him in warning.

“What? I am explaining to the child what happens when you die.” Sophie immediately began to fidget.  Her anxiety was growing.

 

“Sherlock,” Charlotte said casually, “Sit her up for me, would you? Remember when I did sensory with you, to calm you?”  He nodded and moved the child to sit cross-legged in front of Charlotte.

Charlotte began by rubbing the little girls arms.  She moved next to squeezing her hands.  Sophie had been through the process so often, she knew what would come next; what she liked and what she wanted to skip.

 

When a big yawn finally escaped her lips, Charlotte and Sherlock both sighed with relief.

 

“Okay, Sophie.  Come lay down next to me.  Sophie snuggled up to Charlotte under the covers and then looked expectantly at Sherlock to do the same.  When they all were smooshed into the small bed and Sophie was confined, Charlotte handed Sherlock _The Wind in the Willows_ and he began a new chapter.  While he read, Sophie played with the engagement ring on Charlotte’s finger; twisting her hand this way and that, catching light cast from the bedside lamp. It took four chapters for her to finally fall asleep.

 

“Charlotte, when did you realize there was a camera in our room?” 

“There is one in here as well, so speak softer and move your lips less,” she said looking at him over Sophie’s head.  She leaned over the little girl for him to kiss her quickly.

Trying again, he began to ask her about earlier when her phone chimed with a new message.  He reached over to the end table and grabbed her phone before she could untangle her arms from around the slumbering child.

 

**Enjoy this family moment now, Charlie.**

**I’ll be taking it away just as I took your real family.**

Sherlock looked back to see Charlotte wiping at her face. 

 

“I need to_” she began, getting up careful not to disturb Sophie. She held her hand up when he began to get up as well.  “No, she might not really be out yet.  Just stay for a while, alright?” 

 

He nodded with understanding and handed her the phone, but did not relax against the pillow again. 

 

An hour later, Sherlock found Charlotte sitting in the meadow behind the Holmes’.  She was listening to her music with ear buds and did not hear him approach and jumped when she felt his hand on the back of her head.  He sat down next to her and placed a bottle of something on the ground in between them.

 

“Cork popped and everything.  No glasses?”

“It felt like a straight-from-the-bottle type of evening.  Am I wrong?”

“Not at all.  Well-done Mr. Holmes.”  She took a long swig of champagne and handed it back to him.  She wrapped her arms around her legs.

 

“Why did you take the ring off?”  He sounded exhausted.

“You know why.”

“You’re safe here.  There is no real danger.” He tried again.  When she did not respond he rubbed her back and she leaned in letting him support her weight.

“You’re shivering.  Here,” he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and pulled her back against him.

“What are you listening to?”

Without responding, she unplugged the ear buds and the music filled the air. She allowed herself a brief moment to feel safe and possibly even happy.

 

“I found the camera sitting on top of the dresser when your mother left the room,” she said quietly.  She moved away from him to take another sip.  When she looked at him for the first time since he had sat down he realized she had been crying. She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself.

 

“So, then today you were just--” He stopped speaking, grappling with emotions he was all too familiar with, but had not experienced for a very long time. She opened her eyes to see him struggling to find words.  “It wasn’t real.  You lied.”

 

“No,” she said simply.

“No what?” He asked sharply.  The look of hurt in his eyes made hers sting with fresh tears but she swallowed the lump in her throat and continued with her answer.

“Sherlock, no.”  She put her hand to the side of his face and looked at him for a moment before continuing. “Before I took a nap, I deactivated the camera and put it in my make-up bag.  I was not pretending.  Not for a minute.”

 

A look of relief came across his face when he smiled at the ground, but was quickly neutralized.  She leaned back against him and they sat long enough for their breathing to sync. With spring being a couple of weeks off, there was stillness about the air.  An occasional rustle of the leaves and the sounds of creatures in the woods were the only other things disturbing the silence aside from the soft piano music coming from her phone.  In the distance she could see the glowing eyes of a woodland creature.  She silently prayed there were no traps in this area that Sophie might stumble upon.

 

“I know I shouldn’t, but I have to ask you something.” 

She suspected what would come next, but her mind got lost very briefly in the thought that at some point she would have to lay her head on his chest and have him read aloud.  She understood why Sophie was able to relax so suddenly when she did it.  The resonance of his voice created a soothing vibration at her back and she stifled a sigh at the pleasure of it.

“You want to know why I returned the camera,” she said heavily.

“Why would you let Mycroft know you’re on to him?”

“Because I don’t believe Mycroft is playing fair right now.  He knows very well that the camera feeds are not secure. Why would he put them all over the house?”

 

She sat up and handed him the bottle waiting for him to drink. While he drank she continued.

“I don’t think he really gives a damn about protecting me. He’s worried about you. I gave him the camera back, partly because I wanted to avoid a brawl at the party tomorrow and because he now knows, or believes that even with his meddling, I’m not scared off.” Charlotte turned to look at him but he was looking at the bottle in his hands.  Removing it, she scoot closer and grabbed the front of his shirt forcing him to look at her.

 

“More importantly, he knows that whatever happened between us today, happened after I saw and deactivated the camera.”  She pulled him in and put her forehead to his.  “There can be no doubt left at all from him.”

 

He exhaled slowly and nodded his head once.

“You asked me to help you with your experiment, not just to have the experience I think, but to prove something to yourself.  You have _nothing_ to prove.  You’re not inferior to him, in _any_ way. Whatever happens you have got--”

“What do you mean _‘whatever happens’_? What’s going to happen?” He gripped her hands and pushed her back far enough to really look at her.

“Nothing, I just…”

“What happened earlier?  Why were you crying?”

 

“I think I have an idea of who is taunting me.  I don’t know why, or how it all connects though. But that text was enough to tell me. If Mycroft’s seen the footage, he will know I know as well.”

 

“What did you do?”  He gripped her arms tightly.

“This morning’s text triggered a memory I had discounted.  Molly’s information pushed something into place and I just stood there considering everything that has happened so far.”

“What did you _do_?” He asked again his voice more strained this time.

 

She demonstrated the movement for him.  He rolled his eyes at her.

“Charlotte, the time for polite manners is over, what did you do?” His grip loosened when he took in her expression.

 

“No, I wasn’t scolding you, I just showed you what I did!”

“Please,” he scoffed at her not seeing the importance of the action. He rubbed her arms to get the blood flowing again, kissed her forehead and laid on the ground using his arm as a pillow.

 

“It’s only significant to someone who has used it.” She said disappointed. She watched him carefully for another minute before turning away.  He either did not give any validity to her theory, or was attempting to hide something.

 

“What was the confirmation you received off of… _that?_ ”

 

“She said she would take this new family away from me too, just like she took my first family.”  Charlotte wrapped her arms around her legs again and fought the feeling of tears again.


	31. Revelation Part One

“She? I’ve already told you, we are looking for a man,” he said dismissively.

“No, you said it was _most likely_ a man.  You don’t know for sure, though do you?”

 

“You’ve had enough to drink for one evening I think. Come lie down and relax,” he said sitting up far enough to pull her down with him again. He pressed her tightly to him and nuzzled her neck. She recognized the diversionary tactic at once.

 

“You made a deal with someone,” she blurted out.

“Pardon?”  While his voice remained neutral, she felt his arms tense around her.

 

“The text from this morning.  _Tell your boyfriend he’s running out of time._ You weren’t holding up your end of the bargain, so you brought me here.”  His grip around her loosened and she moved away from him to sit up.

 

“Your plan, at least part of it I think, was to convince Mycroft we were together, not to afford me more protection and security per se but to give yourself more time to solve the case and catch her… _the person…_ before you would have to deliver your end of the deal.”

 

His face was still devoid of expression, but his eyes were getting harder and more narrowed.  The growing knot in her stomach told her she was on the right path.

 

“Must be _some_ deal for you to try to get out of it.  A lot of effort, physically and emotionally.”

 

He looked at her sharply but remained silent.

“Tell me something then, in the last couple of weeks, just how much of the _real_ Sherlock have I seen?”

 

“I have no idea what you’re asking me,” he said with condescension.

“Never mind,” she said quietly.  “When is the deadline, then?”  She looked down to see him still pretending to find the sky fascinating.

 

“It’s Sophie’s birthday, of course it is.”  She pulled her legs in again and laughed darkly at the thought. “That gives you five days. I would have thought the deadline would have been her party tomorrow though.  I mean, wouldn’t that be the perfect setting?”

 

When he finally looked at her the look he gave chilled her blood. He was willing her to put the pieces together without having to help and at the same time was terrified she would. He reached for her hand but she moved it away before he could touch her.

 

“You made the deal around the time she was born.  How very Disney-Villain of you.”

 

“I told you, you would be upset with me.” 

“No. Let’s not pretend that really bothers you at all.  Let’s drop as much of the pretending as possible, okay?  It’s just you and me out here.  You did what you had to do.  Right?” 

 

He looked away briefly but was curious to how she was working this all out.

“Of course.  At the time the deal was made, I did what I had to do.  I will always do what _has_ to be done.” His tone was bitter and his eyes were hard.  His defensive mask had risen and locked into place.

 

“So, for all intents and purposes, you’ve known about me for six years.” It was not a question.

“Yes,” he said quietly. 

“Boy, that has to be _very_ frustrating. Not having solved the case for six years.  Not being able to bend the will of others at the drop of a hat.  Being stuck with me.  Tell the truth, this has been really awful for you, hasn’t it?”

 

“No. You’re very clever and I knew you would end up figuring out most everything on your own.  But do not presume to know what I feel or don’t feel.”

 

“Fair enough.  Still, why haven’t you solved it yet?”

 

“This case is a very sensitive one.  There have been too many variables.  I’ve been too careful.  Where I should have taken chances, I’ve hesitated. Sentiment crept in to my decisions.”

 

“Sentiment,” she said trying out the word.   “Is that what happened the last time you were “ _engaged?”_

 

“No. I solved that case within months. I got what I needed, bent the will of others, to use your words.  I was playing the role of a sociopath.  I did not stop to consider her feelings.  I was brilliant.”

 

“You _were_ brilliant? What is it holding you back now?  Why can’t you solve it?  Bringing me here was supposed to buy you extra time, right?”

 

“No, bringing you here had more to do with keeping you safe than buying extra time,” he said distractedly.

 

Something occurred to Charlotte as he said it, but she needed to find the right words and the perfect opening to ask. 

 

“As for why it’s taking forever to solve, I don’t really know. I’m not used to indulging in feelings.  I’ve had them of course, but I have always pushed them aside.  I don’t have time for feelings.  Having feelings slowed me down.”

 

“You’re referring to the Watson’s.  John and Sophie.”

He nodded his head once and viewed her through the corner of his eye.

“You’ve never quite warmed to Mary though, have you?”

 

“Why did you remove the ring?”  He asked trying to redirect the conversation.

“I already told you.  Though, to be perfectly honest, it seems irrelevant now.  Why do you care?”

 

He thought about that for a minute before picking and choosing his words.

“It would be…inconvenient for…this...case, if it were to begin unraveling now.”

 

“I already told you, Mycroft is convinced.  Your mother _seems_ thrilled, though… it’s difficult to tell.  All of you Brits have such displaced emotions.  I can’t tell if she really is thrilled, or has indigestion. I’ve played my role convincingly enough, I think.  You have nothing to worry about.”

 

“I wasn’t worried,” he said quietly, exhaling with frustration. “Charlotte--”

 

“Why do you and Mary not get along very well?”  She asked, cutting him off.  “Do you resent her for coming between you and John and ruining the glory days?  I would have thought you two would get along really well, actually.  You’re so similar.  Super smart, calculating.  Emotionally distant when you’re trying to hide something…trust issues.”

 

He gave her a dark look and sat up.  Before she could lean back he grabbed her arms and brought her in close.

“What do you know?”

“I…Sherlock you’re hurting me.”  She tried to shrug him off but he held on tighter.  “And you’re starting to scare me a little.”

“ _What_ do you know?” His look was still dark, but there was a trace of panic there as well.

“Nothing!”

“Please don’t pretend to be stupid.  You and I both know you’re smarter than you let on.”

 

“I...you…you were shot,” she stammered. 

“ _And?”_

“Mary told me she was… _an assassin_ of all things, but I guess I always thought she was just being dramatic. I thought she was just in a different branch of the military than John.”  Something slid into place in her mind and she felt numb. If Sherlock had not been holding her arms painfully tight, she would have slumped forward.

 

“She was the one though, wasn’t she?  She _shot you._ ” She was barely whispering. Somehow saying these words out loud felt wrong.  He gave her a hard look and the knot in her stomach clenched one final time and fell with a thud. “She’s the reason I’m here. _She_ told you to bring me here.”  The look of relief in his expression spurred her on. 

“She killed Brooks, didn’t she?”  She was too stunned to cry, but that did not stop the lump from forming in her throat.

“No! No, Charlotte she did not. She was here with John and Sophie and myself, working to bring you here.” He finally relaxed his grip and brought her into a tight embrace breathing deeply.

 

When she did not return the embrace he carefully pushed her back.

 

“Does she know what happened to my family?”

“Yes,” he said softly, observing her reactions.  He moved his hand to take her pulse, but she hit his hand away.

“I’m fine.  I’m not going to pass out or fall apart on you.  I just…I’m—”

“You’re worried.”

“No, that’s not it.  Go on…tell me the rest of it.”

“Charlotte…I--” He gave her a look of frustration before looking out into the meadow.

“She wants to tell me herself. Her connection, right, that’s what your text said?”  

“Yup.”

Charlotte grabbed the bottle from him and finished it.


	32. Come Away With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Come Away With Me" Nora Jones
> 
> "Shake" Walk Off the Earth
> 
> "Feel Again" OneRepublic

Charlotte had spent the last thirty minutes alone, pacing around the room. At one point she stopped to look at her face in the mirror.  She stared hard at her reflection trying to see the similarities she shared with Mary; there were none.  She wracked her brain for details she had forgotten.  Charlotte could not get past the fact that Mary looked nothing like the fifteen year old Anna that ran away.  Could a person’s appearance really change so much in twenty-eight years? A quiet voice in her own head told her she looked nothing like her nine year old self.  It was possible.

 

“Sure. Mary is probably your long lost big sister. Why not?  No big deal.  You just spent the last twenty-eight years believing she was dead, but whatevs.  It’s cool.” Charlotte stopped pacing around the room and flopped down on the bed covering her face with her arms. “What the _f__k!”_

 

“You didn’t see it because you weren’t ready to know.”  Sherlock was standing in the doorway watching her wearily.

“Get out of my head, Holmes.”  She kept her arms over her face refusing to look at him.

“I’m just trying---”

“Sherlock, can you see me?” She asked with a calm, quiet voice.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Right now. Can you see me?”

“Charlotte, I don’t understand.”

 

“Sherlock, right now, you can see that I’m lying here with my arms covering my face, yes?”

 

“Yes, of course I can see you, but I don’t und--”

“I’m pretending to be invisible.  If you can’t see me, then I’m not really here.  If I’m not here then I haven’t learned anything to contradict the last eighteen years of my life.  If you can’t see me than I can _un-know_ shit.  I’d really like to un-know shit right now, so can you just _not_ see me right now?”

“Ah, I understand.”

 

She felt the bed sag next to her.

“Clearly, you don’t.”

 

“I’m…supposed to make sure you don’t do something foolish.”  His tone was cool as if she had offended him by not welcoming his presence in the middle of her melt down. 

She laughed without humor, but kept her eyes covered.

“That’s rich. What exactly is it you all fear I might do?”

 

“I don’t know, perhaps ingest sleeping pills or muscle relaxers after drinking an entire bottle of champagne?  Have you taken anything?”  She felt him leaning closer to her to see her better.

“Aspirin.” As an afterthought she added, “I made sure they really were aspirin.  Molly helped me separate them a few days ago.”

“How many did you take?  Have you eaten anything lately?”  She could feel the warmth from the closeness of his body and felt a movement, which she suspected was an attempt to grab her arms away from her face.

 

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Go find something else to do.  I’m invisible right now, remember?”

“You’re not invisible.  You’re very clearly here.  I don’t understand exactly why you think being invisible is going to help you, as you so eloquently put it, “ _un-know shit.”_

 

Something in her snapped and maniacal laughter exploded from her lungs. To his credit, he made no movement towards her or comment.  When she had calmed herself she realized how very close to tears she was. She felt raw and exposed. _Vulnerable_ was a word that fit. She hated the word; the meaning of the word and the feeling as well, but it was the only way to properly describe how she felt.  She rolled to her side and curled up in a ball.

 

There was way too much information to process.  She had questions coming in and out of focus in her mind and she wanted answers desperately.  Why would Anna have left?  Did her mother really know she was still alive?  Was there really someone after them?  Could her father still be alive?  And what did this all have to do with the Jameson case?  

There was a brief instant where she was tempted to seduce the answers from Sherlock but fortunately it passed almost as quickly as the idea had formed. 

 

The buzz of the alcohol had worn off as soon as she had walked into the house. She wished for oblivion but felt over-stimulated and found no comfort in lying on the bed. Her skin was crawling. Prickly cold sweat had beaded on the back of her neck.  She jumped up again and paced around the room.  From the periphery she could see his long form reclining against the headboard watching her.  His legs were crossed, phone in hand, seemingly relaxed but she knew he was tightly wound and ready to spring up into action at any given moment.

Everything about the sight of him there irritated her.  She wanted to lash out and yell at him, or throw something at him, or just glare at him really meanly.  She wanted him to feel something so that she did not have to feel it all anymore.

 

“What do you need?”  He asked suddenly interrupting her inner script.

“What? I don’t know.” It was an honest response. She wanted answers, true, but she also wanted to release the tension that had developed over the last hour. She shook her hands out away from her body and continued to pace.

 

“Do you need sensory?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to go through the exercises you use with Sophie, to help you decompress?”

 

She stopped pacing for a moment to look carefully at him.  An objective person would see a man mildly interested in the scene playing out before him.  She saw a look from him now that she had seen only once before.  Concern.  In the dress shop, when he had discovered the twenty-six marks. Though he was filled with anger at having been bested by the suspect, his eyes displayed a warm concern towards her.  The look was the same now, except there was more in it this time.  Concern, yes, but also a bit of fear and a sick amusement, which filled her with a new fury.

 

“What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I’m just…I’m trying to gather information.  I’ve never seen you like this…like...like  _me.”_ He smiled then as the thought had occurred to him.

 

“I am _nothing_ like you,” she said seething with anger.  The hardness in her eyes made him sit back farther on the bed.  His eyes cooled and the lines around his mouth became hard.

 

“Or, _her._   How can you do this to people?  How could _she do this?_ I loved her!  She just left me.  She left me with my mother.  I was alone.   My mother had no idea what the hell she was doing. I was _nine!_ Don’t either of you have any compassion in you? Do you have _feelings_ at all?  Is _everything_ a game; a puzzle?” Her chest heaved with the effort of breathing while expelling her anger. 

 

He sat like a statue watching her.  His expression was cold and impassive.  Standing still, staring at him, she was suddenly aware of the large black spots clouding her vision.

 

“I want to hit something,” she said with less conviction and reached out to grab the bedrail to steady herself. 

 

“I want to scream at the top of my voice, from the tallest tower, I want to freefall into nothing.  I feel like I need to laugh and cry and throw-up a little.”  She watched him slowly get off the bed without breaking eye contact and approach her in slow motion.   His face still lacked emotion and she felt frustrated she could not make him understand her.

 

“I want to run until it feels like my lungs are going to burst with the exertion of it. I want to feel out of control and out of my mind.  I want to be free.” She felt terrible pain in her hand and realized she was gripping the rail with all of her energy. The pain was enough to begin clearing her vision.  With her cleared vision she realized she was also crying.  She angrily wiped at her face.

 

“I can help you with that, if you’ll let me,” he took a tentative step closer to her.

She eyed him up as he came closer.

“Do you trust me?”

“Ha! Nope, no, not even a little.”

 

“That’s good. It will make this even more helpful to you I think.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” she said has he held up the belt of the robe she had worn earlier.

“Tie this around your eyes,” he said holding his arm out to her standing firmly in place.

 

“No.”

“Charlotte.”

“No, that’s never going to happen.”

“At this point you have three options,” he said calmly and quietly.  There was a hint of a smile playing on his lips, but his words were calculating and intimidating. 

“One: You tie this on yourself like a big girl and let me help you. Two: I force you to the ground and tie it on myself.  Three: Continue your temper tantrum and pass out, in which case I’ll still tie it around you, but exert much less energy.  What would you like to do, Charlotte? If it helps you choose, I’m personally leaning towards option two. It might be fun, don’t you think?  It would certainly release some of your tension.  It did earlier, at least.”

 

Charlotte's jaw dropped but she said nothing and shot daggers at him through her eyes as she extended the hand that was not desperately clinging to the bedrail.  She took the cloth from him and held it in her hand. He made a slow movement to the side and her eyes darted to follow.  He picked up her coat and also handed it to her.

 

“You’ll want this.”

“No.”

“You will,” he said grinning again and she was once again overcome with the desire to lash out.  He must have seen it in her eyes because he held his hands up in resignation and laid the coat back on the chair.

“Charlotte, the blind fold.”  He took a step closer to her, hands still up.

 

“Where are you taking me?”

“You listed for me all the things you wanted to do.  I’m going to try to simulate the sensation I believe you’re looking for.”

“I am not doing drugs with you Sherlock Holmes!”

 

“You’re not going to be doing much of anything if you continue to yell at me and wake Sophie.  Are you going to tie it yourself or do you need me to do it for you?”  He came closer smirking at her and she saw mischief in his eyes. 

Shooting another glare at him she took a deep breath and tied the blindfold around her head, loosely.  Bringing her hands down, she immediately felt mortified at having lost control. She felt him stand close behind her. He made no move to touch her. He simply stood there allowing her to acclimate to the closeness.  After a minute he laid both hands on her shoulders and left them there for another moment.  Slowly tracing her neck he brought his hands up to the blindfold.

 

“I’m retying this, if you can see, you won’t fully experience.  Relax,” he breathed in her ear.   He very gently retied the blindfold around her head making sure it was secure and brought his hands to her shoulders once more.  Though her body still hummed with tension, her limbs began to feel heavier.  She was still fighting with her embarrassment at having behaved like a child and went so far as opening her mouth to take a breath and speak before she felt his breath at her ear again.

 

“I’m going to take your hands and guide you.  You need to breathe and relax.  Put all of your concentration in the ground under your feet.”

 

The breath she had taken to use for an apology rushed out instead with the words, “Don’t let me fall.”

 

He slowly moved his hands down her arms to her hands.  Squeezing once, he said, “Now turn and face me.” He let go of her left hand so that she could slowly turn to face him.  He took it as soon as she was still again and began pulling her forward with him as he backed out of their room.  At the top of the staircase he stopped and dropped her hands.

 

“Wait!” She whispered with panic.

“Put your hand on my arm, we’re going down twelve steps. Concentrate.”

 

She gripped his arm unnecessarily tight, but made it safely to the bottom of the staircase. The house around her was silent except for the clock that could be heard ticking from another room.

 

When she felt a burst of cold air she gasped and immediately smiled at her reaction despite her fear of the unknown.  He made his way out the door and guided her down the step and alerted her to uneven step stones or dips in the ground to expect. Her grip was vice-like and after a while she loosened up realizing she was probably cutting off the circulation.  After fifteen minutes or so of walking through tall grass, he told her to let go.

 

She felt the familiar warmth and heaviness of her coat being put on her and she guided her arms through the sleeves dipping her head in another wave of embarrassment.

 

“Sherlock, I--”

She stopped when she heard a curious pulsating creaking sound.

 

“What is that?” Her panic rose again.

“You’re safe, just try to listen to the sounds around you and feel the solid ground under your feet.”

 

After another minute he stopped walking and removed her hand from the back of his arm.

 

“Okay Charlotte. I’m going to guide you backwards now.  You will feel the edge of a wooden pallet on the back of your upper thigh.  Ready?”

 

He began to guide her backwards when she felt the edge of it against her.  A sound from behind her made her grab his arms tightly.

 

“Sherlock, what was that?  Is someone else here?”

“Charlotte, breathe,” he leaned down and whispered in her ear.  Her body betrayed her as she involuntarily leaned in towards him. He stood still, with his hands on her arms and waited.  “You’re safe with me.  I promise,” he spoke quietly into her neck and she dropped her head to his shoulder.

 

Holding her in place for another moment he brought his hands to the pallet she was leaning on.

“Charlotte, put your hands on the wood and lift yourself onto it. It is wide, you will not fall, I promise.”

 

She lowered her hands tentatively touching the wood.  It was soft and weathered.  It felt as if it had been treated to protect it from the elements, but would still be capable of giving a wicked splinter.  She was grateful to be wearing jeans as she lifted herself on top of it and scoot back.  The panic from earlier had returned when she could no longer feel his warmth next to her. When he spoke it was from a distance.

 

“Reach behind you, you will feel a blanket.  Use your hands to determine its size and place yourself in the center of it and lay down.”

 

“Are you freaking crazy? What the hell is going on? Sherlock I’m not going to--”

“Charlotte, please,” he said with exasperation and she could hear someone else silently laughing.

“Sherlock,” she said again with more anger.

“Okay, we can do it the harder way,” he said with the strain of someone who had just pulled himself up.  His weight caused the pallet to move in a threatening way.

“Sherlock!” Her hands flew to the blindfold to remove it, but he was in front of her grabbing her hands before she could.

“Charlotte,” he spoke soft and with patience this time.  “Please breathe.  Move back until you find my hand and lay there.  I’m _right_ here. You won’t fall. You’re perfectly safe.”

 

There was a knot in her stomach of fear and nerves, but something in his voice was calming enough that she complied.  She moved back with one hand guiding her and gripping Sherlock's coat with the other.  She slowly lowered herself down to lie on the blanket.  The feeling of lying on the wood provided an immediate relief to the muscles in her back.

 

“Now, lay your arms out to either side of you.  Can you do that?  I know it’s the last position you would want to be in.  It's a very exposed position, but just do it.”  He removed her hand from his coat so that she could move it out to the side as he had asked her to.

 

She gripped the blanket on either side of her leg instead.  He took both of her hands into his with a dramatic sigh and extended them out to the sides.  Once there she felt a piece of rope on either side.

 

“What the hell is this?”  She tried to rise but he held her back in place.

“You’re safe. Hold on to the rope if you like but don’t feel like you have to.  It’s only there to stabilize you.”

"I'm going to die.  Fabulous," she said to herself under her breath. 

 

She felt movement again and heard the pound of his feet against the earth as he jumped off the pallet.

 

“Charlotte?”

“Yes,” she whispered, terrified.

“Breathe.”

 

As he said the word, she felt the pallet move on an incline that was similar to the climb of a roller coaster before it comes over the top for the deep plunge. The knot clenched in her stomach and for a tenth of a second everything stopped. 

Weightlessness.  No gravity.  Then, she was moving backwards and wind was rushing through her hair. On the return she exhaled and laughed at the exhilaration she felt.  She had no idea how high she was swinging but with the blindfold on it felt like she was flying.  She lifted her arms to feel the damp cool of the air through her fingers. With each return she felt another knot of tension release.  After a few moments she heard Sherlock mumble something to someone. Through the rush of wind she could not hear the words, but she suspected it was Bill who had helped with this experiment.  After another moment she felt the pallet shift and felt him move to sit next to her.

 

“Can I take the blindfold off yet?”  She was surprised to hear how different the tone of her voice was now. There was a lightness to her now she had not felt in ages.  

“Not just yet,” he responded, his tone having changed too. 

When the swing lost momentum he asked, “Are you ready to take my hands and sit up?”

“Okay.”

 

Sitting up brought a whole new sensation of flying to her.  She let go of his hands somewhat eagerly to extend her arms out again and she felt another renewed push of the pallet swing.

 

Laughing with legitimate pleasure in what felt like forever, Charlotte lowered her hands to her blindfold and removed it.  They were far out into the meadow behind the Holmes’ house. The pallet swing was fastened to an enormous old tree and looked like a beloved childhood treasure.  There were carvings on the outer edges and faded images that must have been painted.  It was a large square about ten feet wide.  The blanket was soft and fuzzy which provided an amazing contrast to the hard wood. The rush of wind stung her eyes and brought tears to the corners of them. She turned to smile at him in amazement.

“How did you know?” She asked breathlessly. She did not wait for his answer because she caught a glimpse of the sky above her.

 

"Oh my God!" Looking up she gasped at how many stars she could see.  Being so far from the city, the darkness of the country and the clear night allowed thousands of stars to be on display.  She laid back and watched them pass in and out of view as the swing lost momentum and allowed herself a moment of silent thanks for a sight so beautiful.

 

She turned her head to find him watching her with curiosity. 

“Better?” His voice was distorted because of the wind, but his concern had returned.

She reached out for his hand and smiled at him.

“Lay beside me. Look at this.” She pointed to the sky with her free hand as he lay on his stomach watching her.

"Not at me, look up.  It's so beautiful," she stopped speaking to let everything settle.  All that she had learned.  All that she had experienced.  Tears leaked from her eyes but she made no move to wipe them away.  They were not tears of sadness so much, but her body had no other way to release the feelings she was experiencing so she let them fall.

 

The swing had slowed down considerably before she spoke again.

“Thank you,” she whispered over her shoulder looking at him closely.  He looked like a completely different man to her in that moment.  His eyes were warm, his face was relaxed.  He looked years younger, less hard, more receptive to the world around him.

“You’re welcome.”  He smiled at her, but she turned back to look at the stars before she saw it.


	33. Two of Us Are Not Like the Others

Charlotte woke up around six in the morning after hours of broken sleep. She was tired of pretending to sleep and rest her eyes when the weight of her day felt like it was suffocating her.  Sherlock was curled in a ball next to her holding her wrist.  She had never woken up next to him in the morning before.  He was usually in the middle of a project when she got up.  She wondered why he would be holding her wrist and not her hand and immediately followed that thought with why he would be touching her at all.  As she began to pull away he stirred and tightened his grip.

 

“Where are you going? What’s the matter? What are you doing?  What’s happening?”  He slurred each question in rapid succession and looked at her through half-opened eyes wildly.

 

“Everything is fine, go back to sleep.  I’m just going to check on Sophie.”  She smoothed his hair back and picked his hand off her wrist and put it on the blanket.

 

“Okay, but then come back.  You have to come back,” he whispered falling immediately to sleep again.

 

She dressed quickly and peeked in on Sophie to see that she was sound asleep as well. The house was dark and quiet as she tiptoed through it.  When she made it to the kitchen she decided being indoors was too oppressive so she grabbed the coat she had left on the table hours before and walked down to the pallet swing.

 

In the meadow she could clear her head.  She climbed onto the swing, sat cross-legged and began to meditate. When her breathing had slowed and the chatter subsided in her mind she began to feel tired at last. She allowed one thought to walk across her mind at a time.  How would she feel when she saw Mary again?  Could she arrange her features?  Could she control her emotions enough to not make a scene? Perhaps she could still call her Mary.  It would seem too strong and uncomfortable to call her Anna.  Clearly she had not been Anna in almost thirty years. What would she do after Mary had given her all of the information?

 

“Have you decided then, dear?”  A soft voice behind Charlotte startled her out of her trance. 

 

“Oh! Mr. Holmes, you scared me!”

 

“I’m sorry my dear.  I sometimes forget there are still people out there like me.”  He laughed, slowly making his way towards her.

 

“I feel that I have a family of superheroes at times.  They can hear the slightest sounds, see what is invisible and mentally engage in every argument with me before it ever happens so that I very rarely have the element of surprise.”  He handed her a large mug of hot coffee, which she accepted gratefully. The morning was very cold and her fingers were numb.

“Thank you,” she said taking the mug from him.  “Sounds like a nightmare,” she said chuckling. 

 

“Oh, it’s not so bad.  I never really have to worry about what I’ll say or do, since it has already been anticipated and counter acted.  Have you decided what you’ll do?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Holmes.”  She looked at the older man now sitting in front of her on a tree stump. Mr. Holmes drank from his own mug and pointedly looked at her over its rim.

“Oh. You mean about my… about my… You mean about Mary,” she said defeated.

“Yes dear, your sister.”

“Yes. She is, isn’t she?”

“She is. What will you do now?” He took another sip of coffee and peered at her from over his mug, crossing his legs reminding her of Sherlock.

 

“I don’t know,” she said softly, looking down into her own cup.  “How did you know I liked both cream and sugar in my coffee?” She asked.

“Charlotte, one does pick up a thing or two when in the presence of my son.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said smiling at him.  She took a few sips and looked out to the meadow bathed in a rose colored light from the sunrise.

 

Six hours earlier she had been out here lying on the swing with Sherlock.  They had watched the stars for about thirty minutes after the swing had slowed.  After she had thanked him, they had remained silent.  She had given up trying to get him to lie on his back to watch the stars with her.  He preferred to either watch her have emotions or look out into the meadow. When she had begun to lose the ability to control her muscles and started to shiver visibly he pulled her off the swing and guided her back to the house.

 

“Do you like the swing?” He again drew her out of her thoughts, motioning to the swing she was sitting on.

“I really do,” she said looking down, running her fingers along the weathered wood. “Sherlock brought me out here last night to calm me down.”  She looked away, embarrassed. 

 

 

“I made it for him when he was five.  He was a sickly child, you know?  Always catching whatever came along.  During one particular bout of pneumonia, Mycroft, in a very rare move of outward affection began reading Treasure Island to him.  One day, Sherlock informed his mother and me that he wanted to become a pirate.  He would stomp around the house with an eye patch on threatening any and all that crossed his path.   He renamed the family dog _Redbeard,_ and would spend hours out here in the meadow.  In an effort to support his newest obsession and to keep him healthy longer, I created this fort for him.  I confess I had hoped he would interact with his brother and the neighbor children, but he preferred to be alone.”

 

Charlotte smiled at the idea of a five year old Sherlock stomping around the house demanding its inhabitants walk the plank.  She also realized that his isolation started way before she had originally figured.  She drank deeply from her coffee then and felt an overwhelming sadness spread through her.

 

“What caused his illnesses?”

“Sherlock was born prematurely.  He has always been too thin, too pale, and too introspective for his own good. His first three years of life were spent in and out of hospital.  His immune system was underdeveloped.  Every minor cold for Mycroft equaled a stay in hospital for Sherlock.”

“I see,” she said sadly.  “Why would you send him to boarding school if he was so unwell?”

 

“I opposed, really.  His mother fought me on it though because it was tradition.  But when he turned nine, he had been home with the chicken pox when he became far too involved in trying to solve homicides for Scotland Yard,” he smiled at a long forgotten memory.  “They were the ones who suggested we remove him from London and get him into school to better occupy his brain.”

 

“Didn’t really work though, did it?”  She asked quietly.

“No, I’m afraid it made things worse for him, didn’t it?”

 

Charlotte remained silent and looked out into the meadow again.  After a while Mr. Holmes cleared his throat.

 

“What will you say to her when she arrives later today?”

 

“I’ve been thinking of that actually.  I suppose there will need to be a conversation with her, won’t there?  I guess she’ll want to explain why she did what she felt she had to do.  I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do with the information, really.”

 

“Will you stay here?”

“Mr. Holmes?”

“When she makes her case and you have all the details, will you stay?

 

“I’m engaged to your son, why would I leave?” 

“Charlotte,” he said in a chiding tone.  “I know it wouldn’t seem so, but I raised that boy.  I know when things are not what they seem.  This engagement is not real; his feelings however, are. I’ve let him down so many times before.  I won’t do it again. So, please tell me what you intend to do.”

 

Charlotte felt her blood chill and her face heat up simultaneously.  She tried to answer him a few times before words actually came out.

 

“I, I don’t think I know what you mean.”  She said stupidly.

“I think you do, dear.”  He smiled warmly at her.

“I would never presume to know what he feels.  He expects me to leave when the case is solved.  He’s prepared for it.  This was all for the case, you know.  He’s working the case and asked me to play along to keep everyone safe.  I would never have suggested this on my own.  I don’t know what Mary expects but I know America is my home.  That’s really about all I know at this point.” 

 

A twig cracked behind her and she turned to see Sherlock walking towards them from about one hundred yards away.  From what she could guess based on the volume of their conversation he had not heard anything. A sound in front of her made her turn to the older Holmes man.  He was standing in front of her smiling again.  Leaning in he kissed her cheek and spoke softly.

 

“Charlotte, my dear, home is where your family is.  Home is where you are loved most.  Please remember that.  You are a rather gifted behavioral specialist.  You know what he feels.”  He kissed her cheek again and walked away to pat his son with an open palm on his shoulder in an approving manner.

 

Sherlock gave his father a tight-lipped smile and watched him walk away.

 

“You were supposed to come right back, Charlotte.  You did not.”  He moved to sit next to her on the swing and took her coffee to drink.  “What was my father talking to you about?”

 

“Building you this swing.  How, you were a five-year-old pirate being adorable.  You knew I’d be here?”

“Of course. I could see how much you loved it here last night.  Naturally this place would be a place of solace for you as it has been for me. I imagine you want to know about my childhood?”

 

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want or need to know anything more than I already do.  You should know, your father knows this engagement isn’t real.”

“Yes, I am aware of that.  He knows human nature. My mother collects cold data, much like Mycroft and myself do, but my father understands that which has remained foreign to us all; love, emotional drive.” 

 

“He…he suggested to me that you…” she had no idea how to continue that train of thought.

“Charlotte, I’ve already told you, I have already anticipated your departure when this case is solved.  Whatever my father has implied, I can assure you, I will be more than fine.  You told me yourself weeks ago, this is just business, right?  There is nothing else going on here, in case you’ve forgotten.  I will be fine.”

 

“I don’t doubt that.  Your ability to compartmentalize is unparalleled.  But for the time being, it makes me look like an enormous bitch to even consider fleeing when this is all over.”

 

“Then don’t.”

 

“Don’t want?”

 

“Don’t consider it.”

 

“What does that even mean?”

 

Sherlock stood then.  He looked down at her with a hint of a smile and traced her jaw with his fingertip.

“You’ll figure it out when you have to.”  He took her hand then and they walked back to the house to prepare for the day.


	34. Who's Your Daddy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The proverbial shit will hit the fan...

Midway through Sophie’s morning sensory work Sherlock walked into the room wearing his costume for the party sending the little girl into mad giggles, undoing all of Charlotte’s decompression work with her.

 

“Sherlock! Was this necessary?”

“Yes, Char, very necessary.”  He gave Charlotte a serious look then focused all of his energies of spinning Sophie around the room.  His use of Sophie's nickname for her knocked the wind out of her.

 

Charlotte strained her ears over the sounds of the pair giggling and dancing and realized why he had come in to interrupt.  She took a deep breath and stretched her arms and legs away from her body then brought them in tight.  She closed her eyes and counted to ten listening to Sherlock humming Sophie’s birthday tune.

 

She opened her eyes and watched the pair for a few more minutes.  Charlotte stood and walked over to the pair. Sherlock stopped twirling and looked at her.

 

“What do you need?”  He asked quietly.

She smiled warmly at him and felt a strength rise in her she felt she had no right to.  Leaning closer she stood on her toes and kissed him.

 

“Just you asking me that.  That’s all I needed. It’s everything.” She kissed the top of Sophie’s head and began to walk away when the little girl jumped to the ground and ran towards her.

“Aunty Char needs her sparkly Sherly.  Give it to her again,” she said handing Sherlock the ring Charlotte had removed the night before.

 

“Little one it’s not necessary that I wear that right now.”

“Yes, Aunty. Yes.  Sherly.  Do it. Do it now Sherly.”

 

He came around the little girl and grinned sheepishly at Charlotte before putting the ring on her finger again.

“How about you keep this on for a while now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said smiling.  He pulled her into a hug as Sophie danced around them and before releasing her gave her another kiss.

 

Lips still numb, she walked down to the kitchen where she knew Mary and John were. When she walked inro the room though she was met with an interesting sight.  Mrs. Holmes was glaring at Mary from across the table and Mrs. Hudson came to put an arm around Charlotte.  Mr. Holmes was sitting next to his wife and watching Charlotte with affection and eyeing Mary with mistrust respectively. 

“Alright Charlie?” Mary said reluctantly watching the reaction Charlotte seemed to have on everyone.

“All right, Anna,” Charlotte countered.

“Right, Charlie listen---”

“Nope. No, don’t do that. You call me Charlotte and I’ll call you Mary, okay?”

“Yeah, I can do that. Can we go somewhere to chat alone now?”

“Don’t you want to see your daughter first?”

 

Mary’s eyes hardened and her lips became a thin narrowed line but she made no answer.

“I’ll go to her, Mary, you stay here.”  John got up from the table and ducked out of the room but not before turning once more to look at both women.

 

“Charlotte, we’ll be in the other room if you need anything,” Mr. Holmes stood up and ushered his wife along with Mrs. Hudson from the room.

“You’ve made quite the impression on them it seems,” Mary said, trying for an open friendly tone.  Her eyes remained cold and distant so the effort was wasted.

“I’ve done nothing.”  Charlotte said crossing her arms in front of her protectively.  Mary took the opportunity to look at the ring on her finger.

 

“The ring is beautiful.  It’s not what I was expecting when he told me of the plan.”  Mary allowed the briefest glimpse of surprise before shutting it down and returning to her cold mask of indifference.  “Do they realize it’s not a real engagement?”

“Well, very clearly no.  As you’ve just pointed out, they are quite taken with me, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Mary smiled and looked down.  She took the chair she was standing behind from the table and sat lightly, indicating Charlotte should sit as well.

 

They stared at each other from across the table for a few minutes.  Mary trying to determine what Charlotte’s next move would be, Charlotte trying to see any resemblance of the big sister she had once had. During this time John walked in once more with Bill under the guise of getting something from the basket on the counter to take to the other room.

 

“So, where do you want me to start, then?  I mean do you really want to get into it right now?  We’ve got the party to get ready for.  The guests will start arriving in an hour.” Mary gave Charlotte a defiant look then turned to acknowledge her husband.

 

“Is everything going alright?”  John asked Mary. She nodded with a controlled smile then turn to Charlotte once more.

“Did you kill our mother?”  Mary’s face fell and John sputtered.

“Alright, we’ll be leaving you to it then,” Bill said and dragged John from the room.

 

“No, she really did overdose Charlotte, I’m sorry.”  She sounded anything but sorry and Charlotte’s blood pressure began to rise.

“What about Daddy?”  Charlotte had been impressed with her ability to be cold and removed like Sherlock up to this point, but her voice broke then and she bit her lip to keep the tears from coming.

 

“Charlotte,” Mary exhaled and looked down.

“Well?”

“I was with you when the cop came to the house, wasn't I?”

“So he really died in the car accident then?” 

 

“Yes, of course.”

Charlotte’s mind was working frantically but one singular fact remained.  Mary was lying.  As she was beginning to say as much someone swept into the room and firmly grabbed her hand.

 

“Hi Mary!” Molly said brightly. “Char, I really hate to interrupt, but you’re needed upstairs right now.”

 

“Is Sophie okay?”  Mary and Charlotte both asked concerned.

“She’s fine! Don’t you worry, I’m sorry Mary, I really need to talk to Charlotte right now.”  Molly dragged a shocked Charlotte from the room at the same time Sophie came tearing across the room screaming with laughter, Mycroft storming after her.  Before Charlotte turned the corner she could see Mycroft’s face was covered in make-up and she fought the urge to laugh.

 

“Molly, what the hell man, I was just getting somewhere?”  Charlotte shrugged out of Molly’s grip in the hall upstairs and forced her to stop moving.

“I know I’m sorry Char.  But…well…she’s lying to you.  I know she’s lying to you.”

“I thought so too.  I know you’re good with the body stuff Molly, but I can read behavior, remember?  I knew she was lying to me.  My father didn’t die in that car accident, but I was just getting around the asking her the important stuff.”

 

“Your father is dead, Charlotte, but he wasn’t the man that raised you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Charlotte, you were named after your father.”

“Wait, what? My Dad’s name was Christopher Armstrong.  Charlotte isn’t a variation of Christopher.”

“No, your real fathers name was Charles.  He was a really, really bad man Charlotte.”

"And he's dead, you said, right?"

"Yes..."

“And Mary killed him?”

 

Molly was silently chewing her lip before coming to the decision to tell Charlotte.

"Molly!  Come on girl, out with it already!"

“No, Charlotte.  Mary didn't kill him.  Sherlock did.”

"Oh shit," Charlotte said, turning to see Sherlock emerge from their bedroom in his full costume.  Her last remaining thought was how familiar he looked dressed that way before the darkness brought her under.  


	35. Life's a Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback...

**October 31, 2014**

New York City, NY

____________________

 

“Charlotte come the hell on. We’re effing late….AGAIN!”

“Jesus Daniel, give it a rest, would ya?  It’s my damn birthday party isn’t it?  I can be late if I want to.”

“You go on and explain that to Meredith then because she’s going to take my effing head off.  And she’s already ripped me a new one three times this week.”

 

Charlotte put the finishing touches on her makeup and only mildly regretted having to put the mask over it. Seeing the entire outfit put together though, she quickly got over it.  The ball was Meredith’s idea.  Charlotte hated making a fuss for birthdays.  This was the worst time of year for her and to pretend it was not her birthday seemed like the best gift.  Meredith had been studying in Hawaii the last two years and to make up for it she wanted to throw a masquerade ball for Charlotte’s thirty-first.

 

Walking out of the tiny bedroom she saw Daniel standing in what looked like a combination of three different costumes. 

“What the hell are you wearing?”  She fell into the wall laughing at him standing there uncomfortably.

 “Char, I have no idea. I told the chick at the costume place to give me something out of a Disney movie and she handed me this crap. At least it came with a sword and a cape though, right?”

 

“Yea, I see that, but Daniel it doesn’t fit you at all.”  She dissolved into giggles again.

“Very nice.  Can we go already? _Jesus.”_   He stomped out of the apartment, leaving her behind to regain her composure.  She instead used that time to send Meredith a quick text message.

 

**We’re late because Daniel’s got his period. C**

**Screw that. Start drinking in the cab and get your sorry OLD ass over here now! M**

**Done and done. C**

He remained pissy with her the entire ride over.  Once they reached the restaurant she was quickly escorted inside and lost him. Meredith had somehow invited the whole of Manhattan to her party.  She could very easily blame her friend on this because teachers did not have so many friends, that and she did not recognize a soul.  The fact that everyone was in masks did not help, but still, it was dark and strangers surrounded her.

She was grateful for the escape that evening.  It had been a total crap week.  She received a new case that shook her to the core.  A little boy diagnosed with Bi-Polar Disorder had bounced from home to home, abuse there to meet him every time had recently moved to the district with a new family and appeared in her office on Monday morning after getting into a fight with a boy in his class.  She knew immediately it would be a difficult case because of the instant connection she had felt with him. 

After countless glasses of pink champagne and several shots, Charlotte was enjoying how the room spun all by itself.  The last she had seen of Daniel was when he went to the bar to settle their tab. Charlotte saw his reflection in a mirror down the length of the room and got up to follow him. When she got to the bar he had vanished again.  She spent the next twenty minutes chatting it up with the lovely Irish man-tending bar. His accent mesmerized her. It was dark in the restaurant but his eyes were black as coal, which also fascinated her. 

 

“Bitch!  There you are.”  Meredith sidled over holding an empty bottle of champagne and her mask.

“Meredith, this is my new friend Joey or Jeremy…might be Jesse,” she indicated the bartender who looked immediately confused and shook his head.  He said something to Meredith who laughed it off and said, “That’s our Charlie!  She’s renamed half the room already.” 

"He was just telling me about his poor little sister.  Her fiance broke up with her.  Isn't that the saddest thing you've heard?"

"Sure," she said distractedly.

“He says he likes my dress.”

“Sure he does, sweetie, where’s your asshole boyfriend?”

“Oh you mean Daaaaanny? I don’t know.  He said he was coming over here to settle the tab with Jermaine but when I got here...” She stopped speaking and looked around her losing her train of thought.

“Yes, I see now.  There's no tab to settle though.  I told him your Uncle Auggie was footin' the bill.”

"Ew.  He's creepy."

"Yea, we all have one," Meredith said.  "Good thing he doesn't live in the states though.  That's how I like my family.  Absent.  Just an emotionally distant Christmas and Birthday card containing cash."

 

“I’d be happy to help her home,” said the bartender.

“Yea, I don’t think so asshole, but thanks.  Holy crap! Listen Char!” 

“Meredith, stop calling people names.  I’m not a bitch and Jesse isn’t an asshole.”

“Who’s Jesse? Whatever, listen, it’s our song!” Meredith pulled her to the dance floor because one of their favorite songs from the way back was playing. Daniel came up towards the end of the song deeming it was time for Charlotte to get home.

 

“Jesus Char, can you even stand?”

“You know what Danny, I’m sick of your attitude tonight.  Jus…just go home alone. God, you ruin everything!”

“Come on, you don’t mean that. Look, just sit here, all right? Let me get a few things for your inevitable hangover tomorrow and then I’ll get a cab.  Just don’t move. Okay?”

“S’fine.  Whatever.”

 

She watched him walk down the block and closed her eyes for a brief moment.  Opening her eyes she realized she must have taken a little nap because she found Daniel on the curb hailing a cab.  Mustering her energy she stood with a groan and complained that she had only just turned thirty-one and should therefore not be experiencing aches and pains yet.

 

“Alright Mr. Fussy-Britches, take me home and have your way with me.  I'll even let you wear the cape!”  She draped herself over him and kissed him fully.

“You aren’t going to be doing much of anything but sleeping tonight,” he said pushing her back and wincing but maintained a firm grip on her.

“Seriously, take a Midol would you?  I am nothing but supportive! I adore you and all you ever do is give me shit.  I moved here for you, you know?  I hate the city! I have had the worst week and today is my birthday.  The least you could do is pretend to be having fun.  I am so freaking---”

He silenced her with a kiss because she was causing a scene and people were stopping to watch. When the cab pulled up she yanked him in and climbed onto his lap. 

 

“Oye!  ‘Dis ain’t tha kinda cab, you!”

 

She stopped kissing him long enough to tell the driver to shut the eff up and where he needed to drive. Before the cab pulled away she looked up to see Meredith doing a happy dance at the entrance to the bar and cheering something.  Her libido was louder though and she waved to her best friend with one hand while tugging Daniel's hair.  She returned to kissing her boyfriend as the cab screeched away from the curb.  In the morning she would forget the entire scene.

 

The next morning she woke up with the worst and last hangover of her life as well as a note from Daniel breaking up with her and a text from Meredith telling her she wanted details and that she hoped Prince Charming used a rain coat.

 

***

Present Day

______________

 

“Oh.  Holy.  Jesus.”  Charlotte’s face was drained of color save the red handprint on her left cheek.  She looked wildly around the room and found Molly sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.  She then saw Sherlock looking incredibly uncomfortable next to the closed door.  Outside the room she could here the sounds of the party beginning.  Tiny feet, tearing through the house and screams of delight heard from out back.

“Charlotte---”

“One thing at a time.”  She said regaining composure and massaging her sore cheek.

“Okay,” he said, shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch.

"You hit me?" She asked Molly.

"I had to, you started yelling...it was causing some concern outside, I'm sorry Charlotte."

"No, it's fine, I get it."

 

“You killed my father.”  She turned her eyes on Sherlock.

“Yes.”

“And he was a very bad man?”

 

“A very, _very_ bad man, Charlotte,” Molly interjected.

“Shoosh!” Charlotte held her hand in front of Molly’s face and focused on Sherlock.

“Yes, he was an immediate threat to everything and everyone I hold dear.”

“A huh.  Now, with less drama, _when_  did you kill him?”

“Six years ago.”

“Shit.”

 

“Charlotte, just--” He took a step closer to her.

“Sherlock just answer me one more thing for now, okay?”  She held one hand up for him to stop moving while pinching the bridge of her nose with the other.

 

“Yes, of course.”

“Did we…did you…uh…we didn’t…um…have...”

“Did we have intercourse, you mean?”

 

Molly stiffened and watched the pair as if she were watching a tennis match.

 

“Jesus Christ" she exhaled all the air in her lungs.  "Yeah, yeah sure, we can use clinical terminology.  Did we?”

“Would you be more comfortable if I used urban language?”

“Sherlock! Answer the freaking question.”

“The night I first met you, in New York, six years ago.”

“Yesss,” she hissed at his deliberate delay. 

 

“No, we did not. I was still recovering from my…accident…and you passed out the moment I brought you to your flat.” He smiled and shrugged his shoulders in what he thought might have passed as something she would laugh off and call him incorrigible for but the smile quickly fell as he began to duck away from the flying shoes and knick-knacks being hurled at him.

 


	36. Revelation Part Two

After the last guest departed the occupants of the Holmes’s residence sat with a glazed exhausted expression on their faces.

 

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand what’s going on exactly,” Tom said to the room at large.

“Listen Meat Dagger---”

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Holmes, Molly and Mrs. Hudson hissed at him.  John groaned under his hand and Mr. Holmes chuckled in a mildly amused manner as if he were watching really bad community theater.

 

“We’ll be off now anyway,” Molly said, gathering an affronted Tom.  “Please tell Charlotte to call me when she…well if she needs anything.”

“Sure thing dear,” Mrs. Holmes said escorting the couple out.

 “Sherlock, why were you in New York? We thought you were in a rehabilitation facility on the mend.”  John spoke quietly to him so as not to draw the attention of the people sitting closest.

“John, I believe I owe Charlotte the entire story first.  What you need to know is I’ve done everything to keep my promise to you.  Everything.  Now, if you’ll excuse me.  It doesn’t sound like she’s throwing things anymore, it might be safe to have a word with her now.”

 

“I’d think twice, brother mine, silence does not equal peace and tranquility in her family, or have you forgotten?”

“Yes, thank you ever-so-much, Mycroft.”

 

“Sherlock, you really want to take Mycroft seriously. After our talk earlier she nearly smothered me with the pillow.”

“You abandoned her, I don’t blame her.”

“You killed her father, and now it turns out were also spying on her in New York, possibly sexually assaulted her as well.”  She smirked at Mycroft’s hoot of laughter and Mrs. Holmes’s shriek.

“Mary, shut up.  You know very well that did not happen.”

“Still funny, I think.”

“You would.”

 

Sherlock stood and made his way to the staircase when Bill came down.

 

“She don’ wanna see ya, mate. No’ jus-yet.”

“I’ve got it from here, _Billy,_ ” he said pushing past the man.

“Be it on ya’head then, mate.” He continued to the kitchen, grabbed a beer and walked out to the back.

 

***

“So you were the cabbie?”

“Yeah, he brought me wif’ him so I could mix the drugs.”

“Lovely.”

“He weren’t lyin’ to ya neither. Ya din’t do it.”

“Yes, I realize we didn’t, I had to make sure though.  My boyfriend broke up with me and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what he was talking about.  Meredith was of absolutely no use because she couldn’t remember anything either.”

 

“She was more hammered'n you I fink.”

“So, tell me all of it then, _Bill_.” 

“Ya sure ya don’ wanna ‘ear it from him now?”

“I need to hear it straight. I can’t fully trust my ears around him for some reason.  He tells the truth, I’m not saying he’s lying, I am just saying he omits important information allowing me to fill in the blanks and I don’t have time for that right now.  So, let’s have it.”

 

Alrigh’ but I feel like ya need ta know he’s taught me lots,” he said by way of giving her one more chance to free him from this task.

“Bill, my patience is already too thin for this. Let’s go.”  She pointed the way forward and began walking.

 

“Just a minute Charlotte.”

“Shit,” she turned to see Sherlock walking towards them holding her coat and another beer.

“M’sorry Char,” Bill said in her ear as he took the bottle from Sherlock and walked off.

 

“I’ll tell you whatever you want, in its entirety. No gaps, holes, or omissions. If you are unclear, just ask. You have my word.” His hands were raised in surrender and he slowly approached.

She yanked her coat from him and smiled at it when she felt the small bottles of vodka in her pocket.  She began walking away from him slowly and waited for him to catch up.

 

“From the beginning.  Go.”

“There was a criminal mastermind terrorizing London ten years ago by the name of James Moriarty. He set up murders…puzzles…for me to solve.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I was…bored.”

“You’re not serious.” She said horrified.

“Yes, but look, this will go much faster if I can get it all out and you ask questions later, alright?”

“No, I won’t promise that.  But continue.”

 

He looked at her through his periphery to be sure she was serious before taking a deep breath to continue.  When she tossed the cap of the little vodka bottle at him and began to drink he figured he was in the clear to get the first part out.

“He wanted to engage me in competition.  The ending came when he shot himself right in front of me.  I was forced to fake my own death to protect the lives of those closest to me.  I spent two years breaking down the network of terrorists he had built. When I had succeeded, Mycroft sent me back to London.  That was the year John and Mary got married.  It was the same year Sophie was born and the same year---”

“You got shot, and killed my father.”

“Yes.”

“None of that makes sense.”

“When I came back to London I was employed in a case against newspaper mogul and notorious blackmailer, Charles Augustus Magnussen.”

 

“My biological father.”

“Yes.”

“Creepy Uncle Auggie,” she whispered to herself stopping in her tracks.

“What?”

“Nothing, just something else I remembered from the night we met in New York. Continue,” she said and walked ahead of him. 

 

She turned to look around satisfied they were in the center of the meadow, spread the blanket she had brought with her and plopped down nursing the second bottle. She originally had thought about heading towards the pallet swing, but realized that was to be a place of tranquility.  She needed wide open space for this story.  Edge, terror, she needed to be in a state of hyper alertness.

 

“Anyway, John and Mary got married and I… _befriended_ Mary’s maid of honor, _Janine._ ”

“Oh, this is the poor girl you faked an engagement with, right?”

“Yes, I was able to gain access to his office one evening, by proposing to his PA---”

“ _Janine,”_ Charlotte interjected.

“Yes, we’ve already established that, why are you interrupting?”

“You not calling her by name suggests you still consider her as a means to an end instead of a person.  You’re better than that.  Call her by her name, please.”

 

“I hardly think it matt---”

“All right, fine.  I’ll go find Bill for the rest of it then, shall I?”  Charlotte stood up and began walking away when she heard him growl and called her back.

 

“Okay, okay. Fine!  By proposing to _Janine_ I was able to gain access to Magnussen’s office.”

She said nothing as she sat down again next to him. 

“When I went into his office, _Janine_ had been knocked unconscious.  I went back to where I suspected his desk would be and heard muttering from another room down the hall.  I found him on his knees in front of a black-clad woman pointing a gun at him.  I thought it was my client, Lady Smallwood.”

 

“It was Mary.”

“Yes. She had gone to kill him because of the threat he posed to her family.  _New_ and old.”

Sherlock stopped speaking then and watched her for signs of interruption. She remained eerily calm. Feeling his gaze she turned to look at him.  When her cold emotionless eyes met his he dropped his gaze and stuttered into speech once more.

 

“Seeing me there surprised her.  She realized her options and knew I had brought John with me.  She couldn’t kill Magnussen with me there for fear I would expose her to John.  She couldn’t kill us both because the blame would be placed on John. She shot me to remove me from the equation and knocked Magnussen out.”

“Mary told me earlier that after she ran away from home, _he_ , guided or funded rather her training in special ops.  I was evidently safe as long as she worked for him. When our mother committed suicide, she was convinced it was because of---”

 

“Magnussen,” Sherlock supplied recognizing her difficulty.

“Thank you. So she began freelance work with the CIA and collecting data.  She gathered a shit-ton of information on him and began working against him. How did you find it all out? And me?  How did you know where I would be?”

“She didn’t tell you everything?”

Charlotte looked away sheepishly and drank from the vodka bottle.

“I may or may not have employed a method tried and true of younger siblings the world over to get their older siblings to shut up and leave them alone.”

 

Sherlock smiled at her and nodded his head. 

“Okay, you want to know now though?”

“Hang on,” she said and drained the little bottle.  She then dug around until she found one in the other pocket.

“How many of those do you have in there?”

“I think I might have one more, want it?”

“No, just wondering how much you felt you would need to stand talking to me tonight.”

“Not talking to you, listening to you.  Continue.”

“After she shot me, I met with Magnussen to make a deal.  I realized he had to have something really valuable for what his asking price would be.  She made every attempt to keep me from telling John she was the one who shot me, but, as you know she failed.”

Charlotte nodded her head but said nothing.

“She provided us with a flash drive containing all of her information; her documentation, her family…you.  John was adamant on tossing it, but I couldn’t have that.  Agent Genevieve Rosanna Armstrong had one younger sister, a half sister. Charlotte.  She was living in New York City with her best friend and foster sister Meredith.”  He took a breath and watched her take a sip from the little bottle once more.

At his pause she handed it to him and watched as he drained it.

“A wealthy relative overseas funded your education and you studied behavioral therapy. In the spring of 2014, you received a new position as guidance counselor and in the fall you met Brooks Jameson.”

He stopped speaking and looked at her then with a heavy expression.  Her eyes lost their focus and moisture was accumulating faster than her lids could hold it. 

 

“Anna’s son,” she finished for him.


	37. A Picture Says a Thousand Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay-and any and all typo's!

“Thank you, Sherlock.  I’ll take it from here.”  Mary’s cool and controlled voice interrupted the silence that had stretched between the pair after Charlotte figured out another piece of the puzzle.

“Mary.” Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on Charlotte and made no move to leave her side.

“Sherlock, go back inside with John and your family," Mary said.  " _Please,_ ” she added as an afterthought.

 

He finally tore his gaze away and gave Mary an appraising look.

“Mary, I don’t really think now is a good time for–”

“No, it’s all right Sherlock.  I’m fine. Besides, you haven’t spent much time with John since they forced me into your personal space anyway, go, I’ll be fine.”  She smiled weakly at him and at her pathetic attempt at humor but he remained impassive.

Mary shifted her feet with irritation and placed her hands on her waist.  Charlotte ignored her and laid her hand gently on his forearm and tried for a smile again saying, “really I will,” before standing up and following Mary’s retreating form father into the meadow. Charlotte took about fifty steps before realizing her coat was vibrating.  She looked up at Mary’s back but the woman must not have heard anything because her pace had not slowed.

Charlotte dropped her hand to her pocket and tipped the phone out to see a new text message.

**I’m not far behind if you need me. SH**

It was sweet but completely unnecessary.  Mary was her sister after all.  There was no reason to be frightened of Mary.  Unless he was referring to her emotional well being, but that seemed very out of character for him so she dismissed it along with the message and returned the phone to her pocket as Mary slowed at last.

 

“He cares for you. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Charlotte offered.  Mary laughed at her but continued to walk towards the more heavily wooded edge of the meadow.

 

“Mary, where are we going?”

“We’re going to the open range beyond these trees for target practice.”

“ _Target_ practice?  Practice for what?  I don’t understand.”

“Am I right to assume you’ve never shot a weapon before?”

“No,” Charlotte said quietly while watching the ground so as not to trip over roots and vines.

 

Mary had stopped abruptly and Charlotte crashed into her.  “I’m sorry!” She said righting herself, mentally noting that crashing into Mary had felt like crashing into a wall.

“When? When did _you_ shoot a gun before?”  She asked incredulously.

“My boyfriend... at the time I mean, he thought it’d be a good idea for me to begin learning self defense when we moved to the city, so I got my black belt in karate and then later, about a week or so before he…before we broke up, he had taken me to the range and taught me how to shoot a .38.  Why does this surprise you?”

 

Mary eyed her younger sister and then reaching some conclusion in her mind shrugged her shoulders and continued walking.

“Sherlock was right about you.  We have all made the error of underestimating you, my dear.  When did Danny do this for you again?”

Something in Mary’s voice made Charlotte stop.  Mary turned when Charlotte’s clomping had stopped and watched her face carefully.

“You _knew_ him?”  Charlotte asked very quietly.

“Indirectly. He was in my employ, if that’s what you’re referring to.”  Mary was not apologetic nor was she aggressive in her admission.  It appeared they had reached the full on truth portion of the day.

“It was,” Charlotte admitted. 

 

“I always knew where you were,” Mary began.  “I kept a close tab on you.  I never trusted Cam, that is to say Magnussen, to stay out of your life totally and I wanted to be sure you were okay.  When you were finished with school, I felt that it was time to really start making a change to my life.”

Charlotte listened patiently as Mary told her edited stories of her old life. She bit back tears when Mary explained her decision to leave the business when she found out she was pregnant and how her heartbreaking sacrifice to give the baby up to keep him safe, was in vain. 

“Right around the time I left, I aligned myself with a new organization and they offered me protection.  Danny. I elected to have him sent to you though.  His main objective was to keep you safe.  He suggested to Meredith that you all relocate to New York City.  When you were settled there and found a job, I had finally found Brooks again.  I met John in May 2013.  When Sherlock returned, at the very end of October, I had the opportunity to meet Mycroft and with his help, I found Brooks.  He helped me move him to a good foster family and then on to you the following fall–”

“Wait, Mycroft knew about Brooks before John and Sherlock?  Did he know about me as well?”  Charlotte stopped walking again.

“He did, yes. Mycroft knows a great deal more than he ever lets on.  Anyway, I thought that everything was going to be fine.  I thought I would have more time to sort things out.  That’s when Cam found both of us again. I had moved to London to keep him in my sights and befriended his PA, Janine.  I’m sure Sherlock has told you all about her.  I was stupid to believe he wouldn’t have found me. He sent a telegram for the wedding. Anyway, Danny called me in July and told me Meredith had reached out to Cam regarding your birthday party. I was furious and worried sick but thought I’d remove Cam and solve the problem.  But then Sherlock had his accident–”

“Um, you _shot_ him!  It wasn’t an accident, Mary.  You made the conscious choice to pull the trigger!” Charlotte interrupted Mary at that point because the panic she felt was becoming unbearable and she needed to lash out.

“Yes, I did. I had to eliminate him in that moment.  Cam knew. He found you.  He knew I was pregnant with John’s child. I panicked.  John still knew nothing and I couldn’t handle being pregnant again and the thought of losing John.  So, yes, I shot Sherlock.  Afterwards, I gave him the flash drive with everything on it. John wanted nothing to do with it but Sherlock nicked it and came to me.  He worked with Mycroft and myself to move Brooks to you and then later he went to New York to see for himself that everything was going according to plan but he evidently fired Danny.  Though, I never really got the details on that,” she said as an afterthought.

“He didn’t outwardly fire him.  He still worked on the force, so I still saw him on a regular basis.  I believe Sherlock just saw to it that Daniel left the romantic end of the deal you struck.”

 “I realize it was ages ago, but you’re handling it all really well, him working for me and all. He really did love you, you know?”

 

“Sure,” Charlotte muttered.

“He was only hired as your protection.  He was never under any order to pursue you, romantically.”

“I know. I mean, I figured that you couldn’t have been that cruel or micromanaging.  But still, Daniel was acting strange all of that last week. He was hyper-alert and controlling.  I mean, he always was controlling, but that week was unbearable.  We were fighting nonstop.  We had been together for almost ten years and every time I mentioned marriage he broke out into hives.  My birthday was approaching and I was sick at the idea of being one year older and no farther on than I was when I first met him. Then out of the blue he wants me to learn to shoot a weapon.  I thought, finally he was ready to, at the very least, move in together. That had always been his one excuse before.  He didn’t want to put me in danger by keeping weapons around if I didn’t know how to handle them and he never wanted to me learn.  It all makes more sense now though, of course.”

 

“You want to be married and have children still?”  Mary asked, grabbing onto this thread of conversation to keep Charlotte talking calmly.

“Not as much as I used to.  Marriage, yeah, I’d like that.  A lot. But I’ve always been terrified of having kids.  I never wanted them to turn out…” she suddenly stopped speaking and looked at her foot.

“You were afraid they would turn out like mom…and me too.”

“You’re bipolar?”

“No, but there is definitely a disconnect in my brain in a way yours is still very much connected.”

 

“Anyway…” Charlotte said pointedly.

“Yes, sorry, anyway, when Sherlock came back from New York, he and I worked out a plan, a deal so to speak; he made sure that Brooks was settled and that you were okay. We’d concluded that Magnussen still didn’t know about Brooks yet, but you were safe and the agency you worked for understood that he was to have absolutely no contact with you or Brooks. Mycroft helped with the legal documents we needed.  There were enough of our people on the inside at the time.”

 

“And when that plan fell to pot, Sherlock shot him?”

“Something like that, yes.”  Mary stopped walking again and turned to give Charlotte a tight smile.

“Mary...what was six years ago, though.  Why was Brooks killed then?  Why am I here?” Charlotte whispered because her throat felt like it was closing in on itself.

“That is the question, isn’t it?  We’ll figure it out.  Together.” Mary gave Charlotte a genuine smile and handed her a gun as casually as if she were handing her a tissue.

 ***

The next morning Charlotte woke to an empty bed.  The clock on the nightstand read ten o’clock.  She hadn’t slept this late in months. She sat up quickly and grasped her head groaning quietly.  It had been a long night.  She and Mary talked out a lot of different issues. Things were far from resolved, but at least the path was clear to begin to get to know each other.

Charlotte looked around the room and saw that Sherlock’s computer lay open on the desk in the corner.  She realized there was something he hoped she would snoop through or else he would never have left it opened and on.  Sliding off the bed she walked over to it and touched the mouse pad to wake it. On the screen was a folder with her name on it.  She laced her fingers behind her head and took a deep breath.  Was she really ready to dive into all of this?  Deciding she needed to fully wake up first she took a shower to release the ache in her neck.

When she emerged from the bathroom thirty minutes later she discovered someone had brought up coffee and a plate of toast for her.  Grabbing the computer and the hot cup of coffee she resettled herself on the bed.  She enjoyed a few sips of coffee before double clicking the folder with her name. For the most part it contained everything she had already anticipated; scanned copies of her official records, photos of her from social media sights and several from her childhood that must have come from Mary.  In a sub-folder she found photos and media clippings of convicted killers and other criminals Sherlock must have felt connected to her case somehow.

When she came to the case file labeled MORIARTY, JAMES she nearly dropped her almost empty cup of now lukewarm coffee.  She read everything Sherlock had collected and written on the criminal but felt the familiar rise of panic in her gut.  She carefully put the cup down on the nightstand and grabbed her phone. Scrolling through the list of contacts she found the one she needed and hit send.

“Guuuurrrl.” Came a hoarse sleepy voice.

“Mer, it’s six o’clock where you are, are you still sleeping?”

“No Char, I’m in Seattle.  It’s, shit— ” a loud crash could be heard and then Meredith’s irritated voice again, “it’s three in the freaking morning Charlotte.  What’s wrong, are you okay?  Why are you calling me?   I thought you weren’t allowed to.”

“Seattle? Why? Wait, what? Why wouldn’t I be allowed to call you?”

“Oh yes, Seattle.  I’m spending time with a new _special_ friend of mine.”

“What’s his name?”

“Oh Char, heterosexuality was so last year.  I’ve got myself a special _lady_ friend.”

 

“Lovely. And why am I not allowed to call you?”

“Oh you know, that delicious crumpet you’re shacking up with told me you were very busy and would call me after the kids birthday.”

“It’s been so long Meredith.  I miss you. There is so much to talk to you about.  I have a million things to tell you and evidently to ask you as well.  Oh, never mind. No, why I’m calling is important, but I’m not sure you’re going to remember…it has to do with the night of my birthday party six years ago.”

 

“Good times. Good times…that was the night you hooked up with the bouncer, right? No, no that was me, God what was his name?”

“Mer, focus! Please, do you remember anything else about that night?”  Charlotte swallowed her panic and held her breath.

 

“You and Danny broke up right?  Was it because of that fox that was following you all night?  God he was hot.  What was _his_ name?  Never mind, ages ago, right?”

 

“The bartender, Meredith.  Do you remember the weird bartender?”

“You hooked up with him too? _Damn girl!_ Where was I when you were getting your groove back?”

“Meredith, if I send you a picture do you think you would recognize him?”

 

“Worth a try. Charlie, are you okay? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine I promise.  Just take a look at the picture and let me know, hang on…” Charlotte snapped a picture and sent it then waited for Meredith to comment.

“He looks really familiar, doesn’t he?”  Meredith said.  “I can’t be sure that he was the bartender though. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t trust my memory anymore.”

“What’s wrong? How’s London?  Oooo, how’s that gorgeous man you’re babysitting?”

“I’m not babysitting him.  I’m living in his flat until some things get figured out.  And that’s the second time you’ve mentioned him.  How do you know what Sherlock looks like?” Charlotte stopped speaking when both Mycroft and Sherlock burst through the door to the bedroom.

“Char?”

“Mer, I’ve got to go.  I’m sorry for waking you up.  I’ll call you later.” Charlotte tapped the end call button and watched the brothers waiting for the next move.

 

“Meredith?” Sherlock asked as he walked over towards her and looked at what was currently on the screen of the computer.

“Yes, I recognized the guy you’ve been asking me about all along.  I needed Meredith to confirm it for me. What’s wrong?” Charlotte moved to sit on her knees to give her more height and moved her eyes from Mycroft’s face to Sherlock’s trying to gain understanding in their silent communication.

 

Sherlock handed her his phone and she stared at the new message.

**It won’t be long now, love. She’s almost there.**

As her face drained of color she looked at the brothers only to feel nauseated by their steely expressions.  Mycroft took out his phone and began ordering someone about with a string of directions that Charlotte could hardly understand.  She turned to look at Sherlock who was waiting for her to come back to herself, uncharacteristically patient and understanding.

 

“This guy,” she pointed to Moriarty on the screen of the computer, “do you remember seeing him at the bar the night of my birthday party?”  He barely moved at her question so she barreled forward clumsy and out of breath.  “The only thing is I cannot be one hundred percent sure it’s the right guy. But I saw someone who looked just like this.  In your article it says he had an Irish accent, right?  Well, the bartender the night of my party, he had an accent, I think.  Or at least, he definitely sounded like he was from somewhere else.  His name was something with a J, I can’t really remember.  And he had a…oh no!” She stopped speaking looking at him with renewed horror.

 

“Go on,” Sherlock said, seemingly aware of what she was going to say.

“He had a sister, whose fiancé had just broken up with her, that was…that was about the time you were shot, right?”

 

“Yes,” he looked at her with a placid expression waiting for her to finish.

 

“He was asking me about my boyfriend and when I was complaining about how Danny hadn’t proposed yet, he launched into the story of his poor sister.”  Charlotte looked up to see Mycroft storm back into the room.

 

“Miss Hastings, that was extremely foolish to send a photo of him out to your friend. Do you have a death wish? Perhaps you and my brother have more in common than I originally thought.”


	38. A Dream Is A Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for it taking me so long to get this out. Life got busy, I got stuck, but I'm back. There will be two more chapters after this and then we're done. I hope you enjoy. The rating needed to change for obvious reasons...also the characters...

“Charlotte? Charlotte, can you hear me?” A quiet voice broke through the dense fog and registered in her brain.  She must have fallen asleep.  The sweet bliss of being unconscious almost made it difficult to recognize that beautiful soft voice.  

 

“Charlotte?” She heard his voice singing her name, coaxing her back to consciousness.  Only that voice could pull her away from a terrifying nightmare where she felt lost and trapped and experienced so much pain her head still ached with the pressure of it all.  His voice could bring her to the feeling of safety and peace.  She slowly opened her eyes to see his handsome face smiling down at her.

 

She was lying on a soft blanket on the pallet swing, dressed in a soft white cotton dress with thin straps.  Sherlock was lying next to her on his side with his body angled towards hers. Her left side felt warm and heavy with the weight of him and she realized her leg had fallen asleep because of the odd tingles she felt sporadically shooting from her toes.

 

With her right hand she touched his cheek and marveled at how young and relaxed he looked. She wondered if it would be possible to have a similar swing installed in Baker Street.  She wanted to say as much, but the words would not come so she smiled at him instead.

 

“There you are, my darling,” he said in response to her smile.  Before she could respond he leaned down and gently kissed her.  She closed her eyes again and felt her body melt into his.  His weight was the anchor she had been desperately searching for; his warmth surrounded her and she felt content.

 

He pulled away and looked down at her waiting for her to open her eyes again. She sighed when she felt a cool breeze lift her hair away from her face.  The sun emerged from behind a cloud and her face was bathed its warm glow.  She strained her ears and heard the sound of water in the distance.  Another breeze brought with it the scent of freshly mown grass and something unpleasant Charlotte couldn’t place.  Her mind still felt foggy with sleep and she half-heartedly tried to clear it to figure out the scent but a small voice in her mind told her now was not the time to figure it all out.  She felt sleep tugging at her conscious thought and figured Sherlock would not find complaint with a little nap.  She felt her right arm drop back towards the pallet swing and took a deep breath.

 

“Charlotte,” his singsong voice floated in the space above her and she felt him trace her lips with his finger.

 

“Darling, please stay here with me.  I need you.” He leaned down and kissed the hollow under her earlobe.  She hummed with pleasure and attempted to stretch.

 

“I’m here, love and I’m not going anywhere,” she spoke softly looking up at the beautiful trees swaying lazily.

 

“Charlotte, I can’t keep you here though.  You have to make the choice to stay with me.  Will you?  Will you stay with me?”  He looked down at her waiting for her response a worry line forming on his brow.

 

“Why would I leave you?”  She said quietly, brushing off his anxiety.  “You’re going to be my husband and the father of my children.”

 

“Yes, I will, but you have to stay with me here for that to be true.  Charlotte, please.”

 

“Oh!” she cried. Another sharp jab shot through her foot making her tense up. 

 

She tried to wiggle it loose a little but all that did was cause more shooting pains than before.  It would be better, she thought, to try to adjust the position they were laying in. She opened her eyes to see him still looking down at her with concern. 

 

“I’m here now, my love. I’m not going anywhere,” she said and with great effort she lifted her arm again to lace her fingers through his soft hair.  She tried to move her body closer to his, but found it difficult to get her limbs to cooperate.  If only she wasn’t so tired.

 

Sensing her desire to be closer, he moved his hand away from her cheek slowly downward stopping to caress her breast before settling on her outer thigh and hitching her leg over his hip.  She gasped at the sensation and he smiled wickedly at her before leaning down sucking a dark mark into her neck, whispering the word _stay_. He moved to lie directly on top of her and she was grateful to have his weight more evenly distributed.

 

As he worked on her neck she felt his hand wander back to the top of her dress. She could feel his lips moving against her neck and felt the vibrations of him speaking but she couldn’t make out the words he was saying to her.  He managed to liberate her breast from the dress when she felt a white hot jab of pain in her arm.  She desperately tried to pull her arm away from whatever was causing her pain but she couldn’t move it.

 

She tried to speak then but her mouth felt numb as if she had recently been to the dentist and had a shot of Novocain. 

 

“No, my darling, not yet.  It’s too soon. Please stay.  Don’t try to talk.  I can understand you perfectly well,” he said leaning down and kissed her gently. 

 

She needed to tell him something was wrong though.  She could taste blood but didn’t remember him biting her lip. The once sporadic pain in her leg had suddenly become constant and unbearable and something was wrong with her voice.  She opened her mouth to stop him but no words came out.  Struggling against him took more energy than she had and panic began to rise within her.

 

She felt tears pricking her eyes and she stared at him trying to silently communicate her growing terror.  His eyes mirrored hers as they accumulated tears.

 

“Please don’t leave me.  Not yet. Charlotte, please. You’re not ready to go back. Stay with me, please. You’re safe here, with me.” He pleaded with her but the pain in her leg tore through her body as she heard a sickening crack.

 

She heard the terrifying sound of someone screaming in agony and her panic increased. If only the screaming would stop she would be able to concentrate enough to move her arm away from the heat and get her leg stretched out.  She closed her eyes and tried to summon all of her energy to move him off of her. When she opened her mouth to scream it was filled with water that made her choke.  She heard his voice again in her head pleading with her to stay but it was becoming more and more distant.  She grasped for his shirt but found nothing but air. Where had he gone?

 

“I told you it was too much for her!  Keep her conscious, goddamn it!” someone bit out with anger.

 

Charlotte’s eyes snapped open as she gasped and sputtered trying to cough out the water that had entered her lungs.  She found herself in a cold dark room lying on a filthy towel on a slab of cold concrete with her hand reaching desperately for a man who was miles away. The screaming had stopped but she realized that she had been the one doing it given the raw ache in her throat.

 

She struggled to comprehend everything she was seeing, mourning the loss of the dream state she had been yanked from.  Her mind was moving at a sluggish pace and her limbs felt so heavy. She was in what looked like the backroom of a factory or warehouse that smelled like oil and dirt. There was a large mowing tractor to her left and other various power tools. There were two people in the room with her as well.  They were wearing dark clothes and standing close together arguing.  She saw a flash of something thin and silver in the taller figures hand and immediately looked down at her arm.

 

Attached to her left arm was a rubber tourniquet and she could see track marks from where they had injected her with something.  Having solved the mystery of the white-hot pain from her arm she quickly looked at her leg. 

 

Her legs were stretched out in front of her but her left leg looked larger than her right.  She took a deep breath to focus and looked harder to see what was causing so much pain. There was a metal claw trap around her ankle and her foot was bent awkwardly.  She tried to move her toes and nearly passed out from the pain. Her eyes kept wandering to the bulge on her leg just above the trap.  Her brain wouldn’t allow her to believe what she was seeing. Her brain was protecting her from the truth.  In her minds eye she saw the decomposing fox and remembered what had happened.  She spent the next five minutes vomiting and praying for oblivion. 

 

 

**_Seventy-Two Hours Earlier_ **

_Mycroft stormed from the room and left Sherlock to explain what had happened._

_The suspect after Charlotte had been waiting for just such a signal to begin the last phase of the plan. According to Sherlock, when she sent Meredith the picture of Moriarty, she inadvertently knocked over a domino._

_“Moriarty died the morning he shot himself on the roof of St. Bart’s.  There was never really a question of it,” Sherlock explained with a careless wave of his hand._

_“But you said, there was a message on the television in January, after you were shot…and who was the bartender if it wasn’t Moriarty?”_

_“Moriarty had his hand in several pots at once.  He had access to computer codes that could trigger world war three from the comfort of his own home. His work with Magnussen extended farther than Mycroft or myself realized at that time.  When I killed Magnussen, I knocked over the first domino. One of Moriarty’s associates unleashed a computer virus featuring Moriarty’s likeness.  When the virus was disabled we realized he had developed a brand new following.  After I dismantled his original network, it seems someone had followed my progress and began recruiting for the new leader.”_

_“Janine?”_

_“No, your Daniel.”_

_“What?  That’s nuts, no way!  There is NO way that Danny is involved in this.  He was hired to protect me!”_

_“Charlotte, please try to remember the night of your birthday.  There was one deduction I was not expecting and it cost you your safety and eventually Brooks, his life, I’m afraid.”_

_“I don’t understand.  Danny was a bad guy, right?  From the bits and pieces I remember and what you have told me, you made sure he understood that he was no longer responsible for being in a romantic relationship with me, that that portion of the deal was terminated.  How did that compromise my safety?  You prolonged my life if anything, didn’t you?”_

_“Charlotte, Daniel was a double agent since the day Mary assigned him to you.  You told me in one of our first conversations, you know when you’re in the presence of a sociopath.  Did you never see it in him?”_

_“Of course I knew he was a sociopath. But he was always good to me. I know you don’t understand this but the heart wants, what the heart wants.  I was too weak to want better for myself.”_

_“No,” he said taking her face in his hands, “You are not weak.  And on some level I am beginning to understand what you mean about the proverbial heart wanting something that may not be good for you, or that you might not be good for.”_

_“We need to leave.”  Mycroft burst into the room again interrupting the dialogue in front of him.  He surveyed the scene, incredulous and with more than a bit of anxiety. “Now, Sherlock.”_

_“Where are we going?” Charlotte wrapped her arms around her legs as she looked back to Mycroft._

_“You will stay here.  I will leave agents behind.  You will be perfectly safe.  Sherlock, now.”  He gave them another look and left the room._

_The bedroom felt colder and everything felt ten times more confusing and frightening.  Sherlock slowly walked towards the windows and remained there for several minutes still as a statue.  Charlotte worried the locket on her necklace as she had done every time she felt her life was spinning out of her control._

_Sherlock turned then and observed her before the alert of his phone chimed._

_**I’m back. Let’s have dinner.** _

_Charlotte had frozen when she heard his phone go off.  She watched his facial expression for any hint of what the message would say._

_“Brilliant!”  When he broke into a calculating yet victorious grin she became even more anxious.  Something was terribly wrong.  Without a glance in her direction he grabbed his coat and scarf and ran from the room._


	39. Love Story

One of Charlotte’s captors threw something across the room hitting the wall with a sharp crashing sound and stormed out through a door on the left.  She bit her lip to remain silent through each pulse of throbbing pain in her leg.  After the loud thud of a door being slammed in another room, the remaining captor came rushing towards her.

 

“No!  Please, no! Please don’t, please stop hurting me.  I don’t know what you want, I don’t have anything, I swear.  Please don’t,” she pleaded with the hooded figure.

“Char, shut up for a minute, please.”  The soft voice hit her in the gut with familiarity and she gasped.

“Danny?”

Daniel lowered his hood and reached for her arm, releasing the rubber tourniquet. He checked her pulse and tipped her head back to check her eyes.

 

“Yes, Charlotte, listen to me, you need to calm down and lower your voice. If you do what I ask, you’ll make it out of this alive.”

“Danny? Why are you doing this? I don’t understand. Danny, why? Why are you hurting me?  Why?” The pain was becoming too much and she became hysterical, crying and pleading with him.

 

“I’m not hurting you, I swear.  Char, where is the chip?  That’s all she wants, where is the chip?  I know you have it.  Anna gave it to you, where is it? Where did you put it?”

 

“Danny I don’t know what you’re talking about.  What did you give me?  Why are you hurting me?  Danny, I can’t breathe!  What’s happening?” Charlotte began to hyperventilate, grasping at his arms.  She could feel her blood pressure rising and knew it was only a matter of minutes before she would pass out.

Daniel must have sensed it too because he slapped her across the face.  The taste of blood in her mouth made her vomit again and Daniel handed her a glass of water.

“Charlotte focus, please.  I need you to remain conscious as long as possible.  Where is the chip?  It’s small; it would be concealed within something small.  It wasn’t in your engagement ring, we checked. She gave it to you at some point over the last couple of months.  Where is it?”

Charlotte looked down and saw that the ring placed there only a few days ago was gone. She looked up her arm to the track marks again and wondered for the second time what she had been given since arriving here.

“Danny,” she began, concentrating on her breathing to control the nausea as well as her anxiety, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.  I swear it to you.  Mary hasn’t given me anything.  Danny, please.  What did you give me? What’s happening? My leg is broken, isn’t it? I can’t feel my toes, Danny. Who is with you? Why are you doing this to me?”

“It’s heroin. She wants you compliant so she can get what she wants.  I gave you a little too much last time though and you passed out.  You should know though, with your condition and injuries, your black outs are going to become longer and more difficult to come out of.  Give me the information she wants and I won’t have to give you any more doses.”

“Danny, I don’t know anything about the chip you’re talking about.  I have nothing new that the chip could be hidden in. You obviously took the ring away. That’s the only thing I’ve received it could have been in.  I assume you’ve already destroyed my phone too, right? Why am I being tortured? Do you have Sherlock somewhere too?  Is he okay?”

 

“Sherlock was supposed to steal the chip from Anna and return it ages ago. He keeps stalling and now,” he laughed without humor, “now he’s got you thinking he’s in love with you and wants to marry you.  Bastard.”

 

“He doesn’t love me?” She could feel something tugging on her consciousness and realized she was crying again.  Blinking back tears the ever-present black dots started clouding her vision again and she took a deep breath.

 

“Of course he doesn’t.  Never has. In fact, do you know where he is right now?”  Daniel was grinning at her and she realized for the first time that in addition to being a sociopath, he also was a psychopath.  There was no way his companion could have broken her leg. The man grinning in front of her caused all the pain she was in. 

 

She remained silent and tried to adjust her position on the floor as another wave of nausea went rolling through her. Bracing herself she looked into his suddenly cold, expressionless eyes.

 

“He’s with the only woman he’s ever shown interest in, Adler’s her name I think. Has he ever mentioned her to you before?  No? Hmm, I can’t say I’m surprised. No, it would be easier to convince you of his affections if you believed he was an inexperienced virgin instead of the regular client of a dominatrix.”  He smiled wickedly then at her surprised and hurt expression. “That was the text he received when he left you days ago, unprotected, vulnerable.  She summoned her little sex slave and he came running very, very willingly.  She’s sent us a picture message care to see it?  Oh, probably not, huh?”

 

“It…it doesn’t matter.  I still don’t have what you want.  Why aren’t you after him, if he’s the one who was supposed to deliver it?”  She could feel the hysteria rising through the sinking depression and prayed that unconsciousness was within reach.

Daniel gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders before grinning at her again.

“I’m afraid he’s all tied up at the moment and we have been reliably informed he has nothing on him, or in him for that matter, kinky freak.”  A sound in another room called his attention away from her face. She used that opportunity to take in her surroundings again and noticed a pocketknife sticking from the pocket of his hoodie.

 

“Oh well, that’s why you and I are getting to have so much quality time together. Aw, you look devastated Char. You didn’t actually believe he loved you, did you?  Let me guess he asked you to teach him about love and relationships, right? Did you believe him? Did you have sex with him?” He leaned closer, his voice becoming more grating on her battered nerves.

 

He reached out a hand and began stroking her jaw, his breath hot on her neck.

 

“Did you ever think of me when he was touching you?  Did you ever think of how I could make you scream my name?” His hand gripped her hair and he gave a nasty tug making her cry out.  “What sorts of kinky things did that freak do with you?”

 

“He is not a freak!” She yelled and grabbed the front of his shirt, the shock of her outburst temporarily knocked him balance off.  She dug her nails in and pulled with all her might, knowing she was ripping the chest hair from his body.  He yelled then and backhanded her with such force she fell over on the floor and pretended to have passed out.

 

“Freaking bitch!” he spat at her.

 

“Daniel, what the hell is going on?”  His female accomplice came stalking back into the room taking in the scene before her.

“She came at me. She’s still high and I was caught off guard.  She scratched the hell out of me.”

“Stop whining like a little bitch and go on a run for me, I need supplies.  I’m bored and she knows more than she’s telling us.”

 

Before he left the room he kicked her broken leg sending her back into unconsciousness but not before she could find comfort in the smooth, cold hard metallic object wrapped tightly in her hand. 

***

_Charlotte didn’t move from her position on the bed, arms wrapped tightly around her legs trying to process all that had just happened.  She was still staring at the door Sherlock had swept out of after receiving a text message when it burst open again.  He bounded back in the room and stood abruptly in front of her with an exasperated expression on his face._

_“You weren’t going to stop me?” He moved closer to her, hands out stretched towards her._

_“Sherlock?  What’s that matter?”_

_“Come here, please,” he said quietly approaching again and reaching for her hands.  She released her legs and moved to kneel on the edge of the bed accepting his hands.  He held them tightly and looked at the engagement ring still sitting on her ring finger._

_“Sherlock?”  She asked quietly squeezing his hands to get him to focus.  He slowly looked up at her but remained silent._

_He released her hands and brought her in for a tight embrace.  He breathed her in and knotted his hands in her hair keeping her firmly in place._

_“What’s happening?”  She whispered realizing that something dangerous had been set in motion._

_“Charlotte,” he spoke her name as if committing it to his memory._

_“Sherlock?” She pushed hard against him to get him to let go._

_He released his vice-like grip on her and pulled back to look her in the eyes._

_“Do you remember our conversation from the other night?  I told you I would always do what has to be done.  I need for you to know that.”_

_“Sherlock, I know.  I understand, but what has to be done? Something is wrong I can feel it. Something feels really, really wrong and I feel powerless and weak to stop it.”_

_“No!”  He grabbed her upper arms roughly.  “Charlotte, you are not weak.  Please know that.  You have more strength than you know.  You will be fine.  Do you understand?”  He shook her for emphasis._

_“No, I don’t, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s going on. What do you think you have to do right now?  We’re safe here; you’ve told me a hundred times that we’re safe.  Why do you have to do anything right now?  Where do you have to go?”_

_“Sherlock!”  They both turned to look at the open door when they heard Mycroft hollering for him._

_“What did my father tell you the other day?  You began to ask me about it but I stopped you.  What did he say?”_

_“He…he said a lot of things, Sherlock. What’s this about?”_

_“What did he say about us, you and me?”_

_Charlotte thought hard about where this was going but dismissed all the thoughts that came to her mind as irrelevant dribble. She was about to say as much when he fingered the locket resting on her chest._

_“Home is where you’re loved the most, Charlotte.”  He looked back up at her meaningfully._

_“What’s happening, Sherlock?” She reached for his face but hesitated then dropped her hand to his shoulder instead.  His eyes followed the movement and he took a deep breath, lowering his head._

_“Sherlock Holmes, let’s go now!” Mycroft called again._

_“I have to go and I don’t want you to just let me.”_

_“But I can’t stop you! I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your work, which you are clearly being summoned to.”_

_“You’re right.  Work.  This was all just a job.  You’ve just been doing what I’ve asked you to do.”_

_“But you said–”_

_He pulled her close and breathed her in once more._

_“You know how I feel. You’ve always known,” he whispered in her ear then swept from the room once more._

_“Wait!” She cried after him but this time she heard the door to the house slam shut and the closing of car doors. He was gone and she could feel the distance growing.  Her mind wandered aimlessly trying to understand what that was all about. She barely knew him. They had not spent enough time together for him to think he was in love with her.  Attraction was definitely mutual, she would never deny that, but love was not the appropriate word to use._

_She ran to the window, but the car was already beyond her view.  A noise from the doorway drew her attention back to the room.  John looked at his phone with a shocked expression and silently put his hands out the side._

_“What the hell just happened?”_

_“John,” she whispered, “I think something bad is about to happen.”_


	40. Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Run, from the album Air by Talkie Walkie

“Chaaarlieee,” a familiar female voice was coming to Charlotte from what sounded like a long tunnel.

 

Before opening her eyes she reached out with her other senses to take stock of the situation. She was still lying on her stomach, arms underneath, fingers desperately clutching the pocketknife she had pick pocketed from Danny.  Her nausea mercifully had subsided a bit and the pain in her leg felt dulled. _It’s got to be the drugs,_ she thought.  Her entire body ached and she realized with mild embarrassment that she had wet herself at some point.  She tried to remember how long she had been here, but with the drugs they were administering and the fact that there were no windows around it was nearly impossible to tell. 

 

The female captor was on the floor near her head.  She could smell the scent of tobacco on her breath and Charlotte’s stomach clenched. Just as soon as it had gone the nausea returned and she bit her lip to give herself something else to focus on.

 

“Go on, Charlie and open your eyes for the big reveal.  Let’s get this over with,” she said with boredom.  

 

Making as little movement as possible, Charlotte slipped the knife up the sleeve of her right arm since they seemed to be favoring her left to administer the heroin as she slowly started opening her eyes.

 

“There you are. Always in your own time, isn’t that right?”  When she saw Charlotte open her eyes she moved back to sit on the chair and crossed her legs as if she was conducting an interview.

 

Charlotte struggled to find her balance getting up.  Her leg felt heavy and swollen and her arms were stiff from having been laid on so long.  Each movement cost her more energy than she had.  When she was finally upright she looked long and hard at the women in front of her and tried to disguise the shock that struck her deeply.  She searched her features and compared them with her memory.  She had anticipated this over a week ago.  She was staring into the face of Anna’s old best friend.  What she hadn’t been expecting was that the girl from so long ago would grow up and eventually become the woman who was Brooks’ foster mother.

“Nancy?” Charlotte nearly choked her mouth was so dry.

“Yes, though I’d prefer it if we use my real name, do you remember it?”

Charlotte swallowed hard and nodded her head hoping that would suffice.

“Oh no, dear, go on and say it…make it all official for me.”

“Z-Zoe,” she choked out in a whisper.

“Oh very good dear, very good indeed, though truth-be-told, I had hoped you’d be more shocked and outraged.”

“You’ve not aged well, or…I…I would have recognized you six…six years ago.” She knew making this woman mad was a mistake, but she couldn’t keep the words in.

 

“What’s this, no fear?  No, that won’t do well at all.  You used to be such a frightened little girl.  Even a few months ago, you never would have poked the bear.  Tell me, when did you figure it all out?”

“Only this weekend–” Charlotte gasped as white-hot heat radiated through her leg. “I knew it…it had to be Anna’s former friend sending all the ridiculous messages.  I didn’t realize though she would also turn out to be Brooks’ foster mother.  I assume you also were sending me a hint with the twenty-six razor blades in my dress for Sophie’s party, right?  You only ever went by Z then after all.”

 

“I thought the razor blades were a stupid idea honestly, but you know Daniel. Dramatic.  He figured he would ruin your charming evening with the prince, just like the prince had ruined Daniel’s evening with you so long ago.  He is not very stable,” she said conspiratorially.

“Isn’t that a bit of the pot calling the kettle black?”  Charlotte’s nausea had returned and she felt the drugs wearing off as the pain in her leg increased.

Zoe tipped her head back and cackled with wild abandon then slapped Charlotte hard across the face.

 

She groaned as she fell to her side again.  Her arm ached when it hit the concrete.  She concentrated on breathing through her mouth because the scent of vomit, urine, blood and cigarette smoke were wreaking havoc on her stomach.  She closed her eyes and indulged in a moment of desperately wishing someone would find her.

 

“How long have I been here?”

“Oh, not long. Though I can tell you you’ve been here long enough that if the great Sherlock Holmes were really in love with you, as you two so pathetically tried to portray, he would have found you ages ago.  Guess that didn’t pan out.  Poor you. Pretty ring though, even if it was a ruse.”

 

“He’ll come for me,” Charlotte spoke softly more to calm her anxiety than to be defiant towards Zoe.

 

“Maybe, but it will be too late by then.  As I’m sure Daniel has already delighted in telling you, he’s all tied up at the moment.”  She smiled triumphantly at Charlotte and re-crossed her legs.  Charlotte used the words ‘he’ll find me’ as a mantra in her mind to calm the panicked chatter that made it harder to concentrate.

 

A sound close to her face captured her attention.  Charlotte was losing track of time.  The next thing she was aware of Zoe was standing in front of her with a lighter, igniting the flame then immediately blowing it out again.

 

“It was always your fault.  Your existence ruined everything.  Anna never wanted to do anything because your slut mother was never sober enough to take care of you.  We could have been so great.  Cam said I had so much potential.  But he always loved her best.  I grew to resent her. And then you broke little Danny’s heart you know.  He wasn’t supposed to be romantically involved with you, of course, but he just couldn’t help himself.  You ruined that too though, didn’t’ you?  You could have had it all, but you took the _detective_ home that night.  _That’s_ when Daniel officially switched sides, incase you were wondering.”

 

“I didn’t, I don’t know…I” Charlotte stopped speaking as Zoe lifted her hand and struck her face again.

 

She reignited the flame and began heating a piece of scrap metal lying nearby.

 

Instead of trying again to explain, Charlotte remained silent concentrating on pushing the pain out of her mind.  She needed her head clear as long as possible to come up with a plan for escaping. The knife felt cold against her arm and she dimly realized she had a fever.  Her leg was most likely infected.  She watched Zoe and realized with a sickening feeling she was going to be burned.

“Where’s the chip, Charlotte?”

“I don’t know what chip you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying to me and I’m going to hurt you.  Now we’ll try again, where is the chip, Charlotte?”

“Daniel told me you were looking for a computer chip that would be small enough to conceal in something very small.  He said you believed Mary–” Charlotte stopped speaking when Zoe shrieked, “Anna! Her name is ANNA!”

 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry. He said you believed _Anna_ gave me something recently that would have contained the chip.  The truth is you took both the engagement ring and the cell phone. Those were the only things I’ve received since coming to London.”

 

Zoe laid the metal against Charlotte’s arm.  Charlotte shrieked in agony and tried to move away from her but Zoe grabbed her hair and pulled hard bringing her head up and exposing the sensitive flesh around her neck.

 

“Where’s the chip, Charlotte?”

“I don’t know! I’m not lying, I swear to you I’m not lying.  Please don’t! HELP!”  Charlotte cried and desperately tried to get out of the older woman’s grip as she again laid the metal on her flesh. She screamed again as pain tore through her.  Zoe was in an awkward pose and Charlotte couldn’t get the knife out and use it effectively so the only thing she could do was ineffectually scream.  Wherever they were, no one could hear her.

“Where is it?”

“I swear, I swear I don’t know. I don’t know.”  Charlotte repeated the answer through her tears and renewed screams each time the metal was laid on various places on her neck and collarbone.

 

“Zoe, what the hell are you doing?  We did not agree to this!”  Daniel came running into the room and removed the metal from Zoe’s hand.

Charlotte shrank as far away from the two as best she could.  The leg that was broken was still attached to the claw trap, which she realized now was bolted to the floor.  From this angle she saw scraps of discarded food wrappers. Days then.  It must be days that she’s been trapped.

 

“Take a walk, NOW!”  Daniel raised his voice and Charlotte watched as Zoe grinned maniacally at him and slowly walked from the room.

 

Charlotte watched as Daniel laid his mobile phone on a metal drum and prepared another vile of heroin to be injected into her arm.  Up till now, she believed she was clever enough to save herself but the pain in her leg and all the little burns were enough to make that bravery waver.  Perhaps he would be right when he had told her earlier that because of her high blood pressure problems and all the injuries that she would continue having more black outs and that maybe, just maybe she wouldn’t have to wake up to this nightmare anymore.

 

“Char, I’m not going to give you as much, just enough to knock you out for a while. You have to stop lying to her. She will kill you, she’ll probably kill me too if I can’t get you to cooperate.  Please just tell us where the chip is and this can all be over.”

 

“Daniel, I don’t know anything about it.  I really don’t.  Mary never said anything to me about a chip, Sherlock never told me anything.  If I had it, I would give it to you, I really would, anything to make this stop.  Please believe me.”

 

“I do, I really do.  But she doesn’t, so you’re going to have to do better than that.”

 “Where am I? Where’s Sherlock? Is he okay?” 

“SHUT UP ABOUT SHERLOCK FREAKING HOLMES!”  Daniel backhanded her and she made something similar to the sound of a scream but her throat was raw and a choking squeal came out instead.  A distant sound could be heard in the background and she bit her lip to control her tears.  Daniel growled with frustration and paced back and forth before stopping in front of the drum to pick the phone up and speak into it. 

“She isn’t cooperating…NO! She’s fine.  A few scrapes, nothing major.  She’s fine…no she sounds like that because she won’t shut up and she’s yelled her throat raw. Yes, yes…I understand. Fine. I said FINE.” He dropped the phone on the drum and turned to face her with a calculating look.

 

“You’re messing with me.”

“I’m not,” she whispered.  “Who were you talking to?”

“Your fake future brother in law.”  There was a brief muscle tick in his jaw before he turned away to pace the length of the room.

 

“You were on the phone with Mycroft?  Why are you in contact with Mycroft?  Does he know where I am?  He’s letting you do this to me?”  She lost the little control she had and let the stream of tears cloud her vision. Her body was too tired to be brave anymore. 

 

“I’m not doing anything to you, Char.  You’re not cooperating.  It’s like every argument we ever got in.  It was always you not listening to me.  I can’t protect you if you won’t listen to me.”

 

“Will you kill me, then?  Give me too much? Is that how you’ll do it?” She indicated to the hypodermic still in his hand. 

“No,” he laughed without humor.  “I won’t kill you Char, even if you beg me to.  You’re forgetting, I’m your ally in this.”

“You broke my leg, you’re keeping me here.”

“I regret that, you were already injured.  I let my temper get the best of me.  You’d said his name again and…something in me snapped.  I hate him.  But I still love you Charlotte.  You and I were so good together.  For ten years, we were family to each other.  He ruined it all.  Everything.  But you can fix it.  We can be together forever, Char.  Don’t you miss me? Just tell her where the freaking chip is and we can leave here today and go away together.  We can get married and have babies, anything you want. Just obey me, tell Zoe what she wants to know.”

Watching him through a red haze of pain she understood at last in him what she had never wanted to acknowledge before.  The behavior specialist had been in an emotionally abusive relationship for years and only now accepted it.  She was exhausted.  A lifetime of exhaustion was catching up with her.  Living with her mother was exhausting.  Being the needy addition to Meredith’s family was exhausting.  Living with Daniel was exhausting.  She chose a profession that allowed her to do real good in the world, but ultimately, it was exhausting. 

Continuing on her spiral of heart crushing realizations she quietly acknowledged that having feelings for Sherlock was exhausting.  If Daniel was in contact with Mycroft, and she was still here being hurt, being tortured then Sherlock was right.  He would always do what he thought had to be done. In this case, for some reason that meant not coming to her rescue.  Something more important needed to be done to get the desired outcome.

With every breath, each tiny piece of hope she had been clutching slipped away. _Would it hurt to die?_  She wondered what damage they would do to her body when she was unconscious and how much of it she would really feel.

“I’m so sorry Danny,” she whispered.

“So am I Char, so am I.”

 

She watched him insert the needle.  Her last thought was how strange it was to watch something sharp enter her body and not be able to feel it because the pain everywhere else was so much stronger.


	41. Pink

Charlotte wasn’t surprised to find herself lying comfortably on the pallet swing again. It made sense that this should be the place her mind would bring her back to.  A place she felt safe and happy.  It would seem her body was going into protective mode. The reality had gotten so bad that her brain was creating a safe place for her conscious self to find solace. This particular trip was induced by the heroin, but she now realized this was how the time had slipped by so quickly.  She was mildly grateful for that. 

 

She watched the fluffy white clouds overhead and listened to the sounds of nature around her.  The running water was back which probably would mean her real body would be doused with it soon. Danny must have meant it when he told her he was decreasing her dosage.  She felt oddly aware of her real body but felt disconnected from it.  She could hear the sounds from the warehouse but she also felt the warm summer breeze in the meadow on the pallet swing.  The brain was such a complex thing.  In the meadow she became aware of another presence, one she could feel rather than see.

 

“I know you’re there, though you’re being very quiet today,” she offered to the wide-open space around her.

“Very good my dear, very good indeed.”  She lifted her head surprised to see Mr. Holmes sitting on the log in front of the swing with a cup of something steaming hot in his hands.

“Mr. Holmes! I was not expecting to see you. Are you here to remind me to have faith and confidence in your son’s ability to save the day at the last possible moment?”  She sat up and hugged her whole and uninjured legs to her body.

“Not at all my dear. If you have your doubts it must be for a good reason.  No, by all means, have your doubts.  I’m here to calm you.  You’ve decided I am to be a calming presence.  I imagine you aren’t seeing either of my boys because at the moment it would upset you worse.”

 

A minute or two passed in comfortable silence, though in truth it could have been ten minutes.  Time passed differently here.  Her thoughts jumped from one worry to the next trying to solve the puzzle.  A shiver went though her and the fear she kept at bay in this safe place broke the dam.  She felt someone touching her real body.  She looked down expecting to see evidence left behind of the touch, but of course there was none.  Who ever touched her wasn’t doing so in anger.  After staring at her wrist a moment longer she realized they must have been taking her pulse.  She caught a whiff of a familiar scent but it vanished just as quickly.

 

“Mr. Holmes?” She whispered for fear of disturbing the peace.

“Yes, my dear,” he replied as quietly.

“Am I going to die?”  She looked over to him and saw him watching the clouds too.

“Maybe, maybe not.  It’s really down to you, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Holmes.”

“Well, it’s your choice to continue fighting or to simply stay asleep, wouldn’t you agree?” He took a sip from his cup and continued to watch her with an expression of mild amusement.

“I suppose,” she said again lying down to watch the clouds.

“He will find you, you know.”

“Do I know that?”

“I believe you do,” he said smiling.

“The real you told me I knew how Sherlock really felt about me.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Did it help?”

“At the time you said it, no not a bit.”

His soft laughter sounded distant to her.  “And now?”

“Well, now it doesn’t matter very much to me.  The cold fact is he left me.  He left me knowing I would be taken.  He knew Mr. Holmes.  He knew.”

 

“Charlotte?”

“He told me…”

“Yes, dear, what is it my son said to you?”

“He said the same thing you did.  He told me I know how he’s always felt about me and that home is where I’m loved,” her thoughts trailed off as she reached up to touch her necklace.

“Ah, and does that help?”

“No, I don’t think it really does.  I can’t be sure though.  I’m just so tired Mr. Holmes.  I’m so tired of how hard everything always has to be.  Everything is always a fight for me.  Sometimes, it’s not even my fight and yet I’m still doing battle.”

 

“Then perhaps you should let others do their own fighting for a change.  Let him fight for you, Charlotte.  You cannot fix everything, including him. You cannot be everything to everyone.”

“You make that sound very easy,” she smiled at an amusing shaped cloud passing above her.

 

She heard a commotion nearby and realized it was not surrounding this body, but around her real body.  She heard the electric buzzing of a taser and the muffled sounds of a fight.

 

Again she felt the sensation of someone touching her real body.  She heard someone calling her name but had no energy left to respond.  She would just stay here a bit longer.  Mr. Holmes had left but that was all right.  She didn’t mind being alone.

 

_***_

_Give my parents and Mrs. Hudson the concert tickets for tonight._

_Bring Charlotte home, to Baker Street._

_Take Mary and Sophie home. I’ll be in contact. SH_

_“What the hell just happened?” John was glancing between the screen on his phone and Charlotte’s upset face._

_“John,” she whispered, “I think something bad is about to happen.”  She returned to looking out the window hoping in vain she would see the car return._

_John immediately called Sherlock and cursed loudly when the call was denied.  Instead of leaving a message he called again three more times. Each time it went directly to voicemail._

_These are not complicated instructions, John. SH_

_I’m not leaving her alone Sherlock!_

_I’m not making requests John.  Do it now. SH_

_No!  Where are you?  Tell me the plan if you expect me to play my part._

_“Damn it, Sherlock!”  John yelled at his phone then immediately went to stand in front of Charlotte._

_“What’s happening, John?” The sound of a text alert could be heard from the doorway._

_Mary quietly observed the scene in front of her.  Charlotte was worrying the heart pendant around her neck as well as pacing in front of the window. John was standing awkwardly in the center of the room shifting his wait from his left to his right foot and back again._

_“John, love, what is it?” Mary remained calm yet her presence commanded their attention._

_“Check your phone,” he seethed with anger._

_Talk him round. SH_

_“I’m to take Charlotte back to Baker Street and bring you and Sophie home.  Mrs. Hudson is to stay here with Sherlock’s parents.” His expression was cold and Charlotte saw the soldier in him then._

_Mary came fully into the room and settled herself on the edge of the bed.  She watched her husband and sister and took a deep breath._

_“And I am supposed to talk you around to this plan.”_

_John had no response for her. Charlotte watched the pair of them and realized the long ago rift that had very nearly broken them hadn’t completely healed._

_“I suppose we had better get ready and start packing.  Charlotte, love come help me with Sophie?”  She stood and held her arm out to her sister and waited for her to move towards her._

_“No, no.  I don’t know what he’s playing at but we are NOT leaving her alone at Baker Street, Mary.  Something is very clearly happening right now.”  John stepped in front of Charlotte and stared at his wife. “Mary, leaving her there would be bloody suicide.  And you know it,” he said under his breath._

_“John, if this is what Sherlock is asking of us, than there is obviously a plan in place.”_

_John remained unconvinced and stared at his wife shocked and angered by her attitude regarding Charlotte._

_“Mary,” he spoke in an undertone. “Sherlock has made mistakes before.  Are you really so willing to leave her life in his hands, just as you’ve gotten her back?”_

***

_“Mary, what’s going to happen?” Charlotte was watching as Mary folded Sophie’s clothes into the little weekend bag they had brought to the Holmes’s place._

_“You tell me,” Mary said just as quietly._

_“John’s right, leaving me alone is going to end very badly.  Do you know what the plan is?  Did Sherlock share it with you?”_

_“No, of course he didn’t. We’ve talked about several possible outcomes though. You most likely will be taken, though I expect Sherlock is off on a mission trying to if not prevent it from happening altogether, then delay it a bit.”_

_“Why do I have to be taken? Can’t you all figure out a better way to handle this?”_

_“Charlotte, I’m not in charge of this. I let go of the power when I enlisted the help of the Mycroft.”_

_“Mycroft?  What do you mean?”_

_“Mycroft has been the point person from the beginning.”_

_“Then why on earth is Sherlock involved so heavily?”_

_Mary smiled at Charlotte then and shrugged her shoulders._

_”The person after me, Mary, what do they want?  What are they after?” Charlotte took a tentative step closer to the older woman._

_“You.  Power.”_

_“Power over whom?”_

_“Me, Sherlock…everyone.”_

_“So what do I do?  How do I survive this?”_

_Mary stopped her movements and looked at Charlotte with a sad smile._

_“You survive it by being you. You remember all of your training, your traditional educational training and your real life experiences in the field.  You endure whatever is coming because when it’s all over the ones who love you most in this world will spend a lifetime helping you rebuild and make new memories.”_

_“That’s pretty much the worst advice, ever.”_

_“I know,” Mary shrugged her shoulders and looked back at the bag, “but Charlie, you know how to fight, you know how to shoot, and you’ve got more common sense than any of us, especially when it comes to human emotions and behavior.”_

_“If I’m killed, Anna, I’ll never forgive you.”_

_Mary approached slowly and wrapped Charlotte in a tight embrace saying “deal” into her shoulder._

_***_

_Several hours later, after promising Mr. and Mrs. Holmes she’d be back again soon, that she and Sherlock would not elope, after the long hug between herself and Mary and the teary silent goodbye with a sleeping Sophie, Charlotte dropped her bags in the empty flat and waited with John._

_“I’m going to make us some tea, I want you to sit and relax.  How are you feeling?  Have you taken your medicine today?”_

_“John, I’m fine.  Really.  You do not have to stay here with me.”_

_“I’m not leaving you Charlotte and Sherlock bloody well knows it.”  She smiled in return and went to put her bags in her room._

_She received a text from Sherlock then and exhaled the air she hadn’t realized she was holding onto for what felt like hours._

_What’s my favorite color? SH_

_“How the hell should I know?” She said aloud to the room._

_“Charlotte did you say something?” John called from the kitchen._

_“No, I’m fine.”  She stared at her phone again then put it in her back pocket.  Not knowing the answer but realizing the question had to be relevant, she would figure it out before wasting time writing back._

_She wandered through each room of the flat, eyes glazed with fear looking but never really seeing, only coming to stop in front of the suspect wall.  She looked at the photo’s hanging and tried to see them all with new eyes. Nothing stood out any different to her than the first time she had seen them._

_John brought the tea in at some point but left her to her meditations.  He sat in his comfy chair by the fire he had just built and read the newspaper. She rubbed her eyes and collapsed on the couch.  She reached for her necklace and began to run the locket back and forth taking comfort in the vibrations it made against her skin as well as the zipping sound it made. She meditated on that sound for a while before something locked into place.  Sherlock’s favorite color...She sat up and looked over to see John sound asleep before she rushed to the drawer in Sherlock’s desk that contained remnants from former cases.  After rummaging around for a minute she found what she was looking for and exhaled a shaky breath._

_An hour later, she woke John gently announcing she was going to take a shower and then go to bed.  She locked the door and made her way back to Sherlock’s room.  She lay down and stared at the ceiling wondering what she should do next.  Turning to her side she saw something sticking out from under his pillow.  She pulled it out to discover it was a hastily written note._

_Charlotte, You’re never alone. Do you remember the day we met?_

_Text the answer. SH_

_She smiled with relief knowing she was correct in her thinking.  She stared at his handwriting before thinking back to the first time she met him in the bakery.  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and immediately sent a one-word text to him._

_Pink_

_Less than a minute later her phone chimed with his response._

_I will always find you. SH_

_A sound from the sitting room sent her body into high alert.  John was stealthy and would never make such a sound.  Someone had gotten the jump on him._

_You had better…it’s happening now._

_She hit send as the bedroom door flung open and felt the shock of electric current pulsing through her body as a taser was used on her._

_***_

Charlotte slowly regained consciousness listening to Zoe and Daniel arguing over something. She heard footsteps and heard the muffled ‘umf’ of someone being sucker-punched in the gut before falling to the floor.  More footsteps, louder this time immediately followed by a screeching sound and the buzz of something electric.  Something clattered to the floor next to her.

 

Someone was gingerly touching her face and her neck.  She felt a hand on her wrist and heard her name being called. She wondered if Mr. Holmes had returned but when she lifted her head and opened her eyes she was no longer on the pallet swing in the middle of summer.  She was once again on the cold, filthy cement floor of the warehouse.

 

“Miss Hastings, Charlotte.  Open your eyes and focus on me.  Can you see me? Can you hear me?”

“Mycroft?”

“Yes, are you alright?”  He looked odd to her and she didn’t have the wherewithal to figure out why.  His lip was bleeding and there was a fast bruise forming over his left cheek.  He grabbed her wrist to take her pulse but she pushed his hand away.

“Of course not. What is the matter with your face? I don’t understand why you’re here.  Where’s your father, and the meadow?  I don’t…where’s…where’s…what’s happening to me?”

“Charlotte listen very carefully to me, please, you mustn’t give them any information, do you understand?”

“You’re not real.  You’re not really here. You aren’t real,” she felt tears escape from her eyes.

“Miss Hastings…Charlotte…you need to be quiet.”

“Mycroft?”

“Yes, please focus, we’re almost out of time, you need to focus on what I’m telling you.”

“Duck.”

“Charlotte, for gods sake you’re not in the meadow, there are no ducks!”  He took a deep breath to summon another degree of patience at dealing with her unstable mind right before he was struck upside his head with his own umbrella.

 

When she opened her eyes again, Daniel was on the floor facing her.  He was taking her pulse and looking back over his shoulder to a figure clumped over on a chair.    

 

“Why did you kill Brooks?”  Charlotte croaked out the words.  Daniel let her wrist go and moved back away from her.

 

“Brooks, hmm,” Zoe’s voice was coming from behind Charlotte.

 

When Zoe walked into her eye line, Charlotte watched as she grinned at the memory and laughed without humor before continuing.  “Brooks really did kill himself, I’m afraid.  He had become quite the little hacker, you see, and stumbled upon some information he just didn’t have the emotional maturity to handle.  He had a meltdown and attacked us all.  I defended myself as best as I could.  It was only a flesh wound.  That was enough to bring him back to himself and realize what an awful human being he was turning into.  He went to his room and slit his own wrists.”

 

“No,” Charlotte whispered.

“Char, you couldn’t have helped him,” Daniel interrupted. 

“Where was the knife then?”  Charlotte wasn’t sure where the energy for her questions was coming from but she had to ask before she decided to let go.

“Oh that was Danny’s knife, wasn’t it dearest?  Originally we were going to plant it on you, but see Danny was very angry with you and lost his temper, injuring you enough that you wouldn’t have been able to fight off a teenager having a meltdown.”

 

“I don’t remember,” Charlotte whispered shaking her head.

“No, of course dear, you wouldn’t.  You were drugged.”  Zoe walked away from her and laughed to the open room.

 

“Now, where is my chip, Charlotte?”  Zoe had replaced Mycroft’s umbrella with a long piece of wood and was tapping it on her hand waiting for a response.  Daniel moved to the side to observe Zoe and Charlotte realized the slumped figure in the chair was the real Mycroft.  She tried to fit the pieces together but nothing made sense.

 

“It’s my belief,” Charlotte began, and noticed that he very subtly lifted his head to glare at her and shake his head in warning, “that it was destroyed a month ago in Sherlock’s apartment.”  He nodded his head again in the smallest movement only she would see.

 

“Impossible.” Zoe raised the stick and brought it down on Charlotte’s uninjured leg.

“I swear it,” she cried.  “Sherlock kidnapped Sophie from me and when I found them together he was conducting an experiment and destroying something… _Anna_ had given her very recently.” 

 

“You’re lying to me,” Zoe whispered, ticking her finger in front of Charlotte’s face the same way she had done over twenty years ago.  Anger flared in Charlotte and she summoned the last of her strength.

“Yes, you’re right, I am.”  Charlotte watched as Mycroft failed to conceal the jerk of his head.  Zoe’s eyes lit up with fresh anger.

“So…where is it then?”

“Around my neck, of course.”

 

“Take off your necklace and throw it over here,” Zoe said clearly mistrustful.

“I really can’t. My fine motor skills are shot from the drugs you’ve given me,” she said demonstrating her weak grip with her left hand.

“Danny, rip it from her neck, now!”  Zoe stood a foot away waiting for him to comply.

 

Danny approached Charlotte slowly and kneeled to the ground.  He reached around her neck and unclasped the locket bringing it back around again.  He looked at it once and tossed it to Zoe.  Turning to look back at Charlotte he brought his hand to her cheek.

 

“Why didn’t you just tell me you had it all along?”

“I knew once you had it, you’d kill me.  I was trying to wait as long as I could.”

“Charlotte, I love you, I wouldn’t kill you.”

“Danny, the thing is, I don’t love you.  And you don’t love me.  You just hate Sherlock.  I know how you think, if you can’t have me, than neither can he.”

“What’s the matter with you?  You were always a stubborn bitch!  You ruin everything!”  He raised his hand and slapped her across the face.

 

“Thank you, Danny.  I needed that.” Charlotte grabbed at the front of his hoodie and pulled him off balance, driving the pocketknife into his throat.

 

Zoe screamed and lunged for Charlotte swinging the stick, hitting any part of Charlotte she could reach.  After a blow to the head, the lights went out.


	42. Awake

Charlotte fought her way back to consciousness as a cacophony of sound assaulted her ears; loud bangs, shouts, metal on concrete, and a weird buzzing sound she now associated with a taser, filled the space around her.  She felt the vibrations of several pairs of feet running towards her and then the tentative grip on her wrist to check for her pulse. She could hear someone yelling her name but it was muffled and sounded like it was coming to her from down a long tunnel.

 

“Charlotte! Charlotte, can you hear me?”

 

 _Yes! I’m here.  Please help me!_ She was screaming out to her rescuers, her head vibrating with the force of it, but her lips remained closed.  She tried to open her eyes, lift her head and do something to let them know she was there but her body refused to obey.

Charlotte heard the urgency in the speakers voice as they repeated calling for her and yet she couldn’t respond out loud.

 

“Sherlock,” John warned in a low tone.  She felt someone touching her left leg and pain shot through her body.

“John, she isn’t responding.  Why isn’t she responding, John?  Charlotte? Charlotte, can you hear me?”

 

Their voices were becoming louder and clearer to her, John and Sherlock’s. She felt her body responding to the familiar sounds of their voices and chose to squash the panic that had begun to rise when a little voice in her head tried to convince her they weren’t really there.  _Just please keep talking to me_ , she thought.

 

“Charlotte? Can you hear me at all? Please wake up, Charlotte.” She felt the ground drop away from her then as well as a warm, wet sensation on her cheek.  It took several more moments for her to realize someone, presumably Sherlock, had lifted her and was speaking closely to her face.

 

“Sherlock, don’t,” John warned again.

 

“I found you. I found you.  Wake up, please.” 

_You found me._

 

She tried to open her eyes and failed.  She tried to move her mouth, her arms, her hands, her fingers…every attempt failed. Charlotte only took comfort in realizing that she wasn’t paralyzed. She could feel his arms around her as well as what must be John’s hands on her leg, but still her body refused to move.

 

“Sherlock, please hold her steady while I try to remove this trap.”

 

Charlotte wanted to yell for John to stop and not touch it but she still couldn’t find her voice.  She felt his hands on her leg and waited for the pain.

 

“John, wait!” She heard Sherlock’s voice change and she listened harder to pick up anything else.

“She’s waking up, I think.  John, can you see?”

“Charlotte? Charlotte, it’s John. Can you hear me? You’re safe now, Charlotte. It’s safe for you to open your eyes now.  Go on, let me see you.”

 

Charlotte took comfort in his words and again tried to speak but failed. _Please don’t give up on me_.  _Please keep talking to me,_ she thought desperately.  She felt a tear escape from her eye then and heard the relief in John’s voice as he praised her for the action she had no control over.

 

“That’s it, Charlotte.  You’re safe now. I promise.  It’s okay to cry.  Can you hear me Char?  Mary’s just got here and she’s going to want to see you to know you’re okay, but you have to open your eyes now.  Come on Charlotte, you can do it.”

 

_I can’t, John.  I can’t move.  Please help me.  Something is very wrong._

 

“John?” Sherlock’s voice sounded concerned again.  She felt a hand on her wrist and a tight weight bearing down on her chest.  It felt like the ground was shaking. She had to keep trying to make contact. This should be the easiest thing, to open ones eyes. 

“Sherlock, I can’t wait anymore, this needs to come off, now.  Please lay her flat and hold her still.”

 

She felt John’s hands return to her leg and felt an intense burning pain.  Internally she was screaming.  She saw red, angry and violent.  The shaking became worse and as she finally realized it wasn’t the ground that shook, but her own body experiencing a seizure, she lost her flimsy grip on consciousness and let darkness take her under.

 

For a while there was nothing but black silence.  Slowly sounds grew more focused and Charlotte could hear the steady hum of a monitor. She felt a terrible ache in her forehead and began to associate the discomfort with being exposed to a bright light.

 

She could hear someone calling her name from time to time, coaxing her back into consciousness, but felt too sleepy to pay attention.  She felt no urgency to wake up or make contact. She could feel no pain, no sadness, only nothingness.  As she became more aware, she began noticing a routine.

 

She felt discomfort during the times when it seemed like there was a great flurry of activity surrounding her.  She felt her body being touched, pulled and prodded.  There were loud and unexpected sounds during these times as well. Nothing made sense. There were other times when she felt content.  The sound she heard was more controlled, less sporadic and terrifying.  When she felt her body being touched it was gentle and calming and always left a faint scent around her she was unable to identify.  This was how she measured time.

 

 

Charlotte spent three weeks in a medically induced coma.  After the swelling had reduced enough, the doctors decreased the drugs in her system so that when ready, her body would naturally come out of the coma.  It was another two weeks before her eyes opened for the first time.  For several hours she had become increasingly aware of the sounds around her.  The incessant beeping of the monitors sounded shriller with each passing moment. When the oppressive din of the beeping monitors faded she became aware of the soft, metered cadence of a much lower pitch.  A voice, she told herself.  She heard the continued sound of a voice. 

 

She opened her eyes to a peculiar sight.  A woman was sound asleep on a chair in the corner of the small room…Molly was her name, she reminded herself.  Sherlock was sitting with his legs propped on the side of her bed, elbow placed on the armrest, head in hand.  His voice sounded deeper than last she’d heard it as if he’d been reading for hours.

 

Charlotte heard the comforting familiar words from her favorite story and a surge of pleasure washed through her.  At the immediate change in her pulse Sherlock’s head jerked upward. She tried to speak but realized she was suffocating.  There was something in her throat and she couldn’t speak.  She began to panic and buck against her restraints. A team of nurses came running in and immediately helped removed the breathing tube.  When all the activity died down the only people left in her room included Molly talking excitedly into her mobile phone and the nurse. With one pleading look to the nurse, Molly was reassured Charlotte would be fine but needed quiet resting time and was invited to come back during visiting hours the next day. After she had gone the nurse returned to check her vitals once more.

 

“Where did the man go?” She asked with a hoarse unused voice.

“Dr. Hooper was your only visitor this evening, sweetie,” the nurse replied winking at her. Charlotte drifted off to sleep again convinced she had imagined it. 

 

Nurses came to check her vitals every hour on the hour and at shift change she realized she preferred the night staff to the day staff.  Her morning nurse came in singing ‘good morning’ to her in a shrill, cheerful voice.

 

“There she is! Look how pretty your eyes are. I just knew they would be, I did. My name is Jenny and I’m your day nurse.  How are you feeling today, love?  Do you have any pains I should know about?  What a pleasure it is to be able to ask you instead of trying to work it out on my own.” Jenny moved to the far side of the room and flung the curtains open to reveal bright sunlight streaming into the room.  Charlotte shut her eyes and covered them with her hand, slowly adjusting to the brightness before opening them again.  When she lowered her hand and looked at Jenny, the woman was just staring at her smiling.

 

She stood, blinking, at Charlotte for another minute before continuing her routine. She smiled warmly at Charlotte and came around the bed to check the many bags of fluids hanging from the poles next to her.

 

“You’re hooked up to all sorts of good stuff right now, but we’re going to start weaning you off everything.  Are you hungry, love?  Would you like to try some food this morning?  We will start very slowly, okay?”  She didn’t wait for Charlotte’s answer before leaving the room to grab a tray from the hall.

 

Charlotte managed to slowly sit up and Jenny helped reshape the pillows behind her. When that task was finished, Charlotte felt tired again.  Jenny smiled at her once more and helped her sip water from the cup she held. Charlotte closed her eyes at the relief she felt as the liquid put out the fire in her throat.

 

“Does that feel better, love?”  Jenny had an extremely irritating habit of over-blinking and it was making Charlotte dizzy.  She closed her eyes again and nodded.  “There you go! I knew you were in there. Have another sip then, go on.”

 

Charlotte leaned forward again and sipped more deeply from the cup.  Jenny prattled on about herself and the hospital while she redressed the bandages on Charlotte’s leg.

 

“What day is it?”  Charlotte whispered.

“Marvelous Monday!” Jenny sang back.

 

“Monday, April 12th Char,” a soft voice came from the doorway.  Charlotte’s eyes darted to the door and felt her stomach clench.

 

Mary stood in the doorway holding a bouquet of pink tulips in one hand and a take away beverage cup in the other. 

 

“Well hello Miss Mary!  Our girl’s awake today!”  Jenny beamed at Charlotte and then turned to smile at Mary.

 

“Yes, I can see that.  Are you finished checking her vitals, then?”  Mary was smiling at the nurse but Charlotte detected a slight irritation on Mary’s part.

 

“Of course. She’s doing well. We just gotta get her talking and she’ll be right as rain!”  Jenny patted Charlotte’s hand and stood.  “The doctor will be in to see you in about an hour and once you’ve got your catheter removed I daresay you’re going to be eager for a shower and I’ll come help you with that.”

 

“Can we have her killed?”  Charlotte whispered to Mary once the door was closed.

 

“Mycroft said almost the exact same thing,” Mary said laughing.  Charlotte watched her sister hesitantly sit on the chair next to her bed.

 

“Lestrade is in the hall having a fit that I won’t let him question you yet. I wanted to see you first.”

 

“Okay,” Charlotte said without blinking. 

“Are you in pain?” Mary asked.

“I’m still hooked up to pain killers.”  Mary reached for her hand but Charlotte moved it away.  “You can send Lestrade in.  I don’t know how I can help though.  I don’t remember a lot.”

“He just needs to take your statement.  It will be over soon.  Would you like me to stay in here with you?”

“If you like.” Charlotte took another sip of water and sat back against the pillows feeling exhausted.

 

A few moments later Mary invited Detective Inspector Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan in for her statement. 

 

“Well it’s a relief to see you awake Charlotte.  We’ve all been worried about you.  How are you doing?”  Lestrade walked over to sit in the chair Mary had recently vacated.

 

“I’m fine,” Charlotte said watching Lestrade’s expression fall.  He turned to look at Mary with concern and then back to Charlotte.

 

“I’m Greg Lestrade, a friend of Mary and Johns’.  We met a couple of months ago.”  He was still looking at her concerned.

 

“I remember you,” she said simply then looked at the woman in the room and added, “both.”

“Right,” Lestrade said, uneasy for a few moments before slipping into his professional role. “I’ve got to ask you some questions.  I want you to take your time before you answer.  It’s all just formality.  All right, let’s get started.”

 

The next ten minutes were spent answering questions about Daniel and his death. Lestrade informed her she would not be charged in his death owing to the fact it was self-defense. Charlotte answered each question succinctly and without emotion.  Mary came to sit beside her on the bed when she was asked about her injuries and the torture she had been put through.  Zoe, they had informed her, was now being held in a high-security prison somewhere after spending a stint in the same hospital as Charlotte, but no one was forthcoming on the details of her injuries so Charlotte remained silent.

 

Lestrade’s phone chimed three times during their conversation and after the fourth he excused himself to the hallway to make a call leaving Donovan behind to continue speaking with Charlotte.

 

“Why are _you_ here?”  Charlotte asked Donovan after realizing she remained behind after Lestrade left.

 

“Okay, Miss Hastings, I have to ask you some difficult questions that you may feel more comfortable answering alone.”  She pointedly looked at Mary.

 

“Fat chance, Sally.  I’m not going anywhere.  Continue.” Mary looked at Charlotte and nodded her head.

 

Charlotte observed Sergeant Donovan and realized the woman looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Whatever you need,” she said quietly.

 

Donovan threw Mary another look before sighing deeply.

 

“When you were brought in, your left leg was broken in two places: the tibia and ankle. You had two broken ribs on your right side that was likely from being struck with a blunt object…”

“No,” Charlotte said.  “He…Daniel…he kicked me.”

Donovan made a note on her pad and continued.

“You have fifteen burns made from a narrow shaped object across your neck, collar bone and down the length of your arm.”

 

Charlotte took a deep breath then, unaware at having drawn any attention to herself. Mary grabbed her hand, which remained limp, and refused to let go.

 

“Are you alright, Miss Hastings?”  Donovan looked at both women unsure if she should proceed.

“Yes, go on.”

 

“You suffered a blow to the head which Mycroft has already confirmed for us was done by a broken wooden beam as well as marks on your abdomen caused by the electric taser.”  Donovan paused again to watch the women before plowing ahead.

 

“The lab results that came back on your blood after you were first admitted, showed an extremely high level of heroin as well as a spike in your hormone levels which could indicate possible pregnancy, though it was way too early to know for certain and in any case, your tests now are coming back negative.  If you were in fact pregnant, I’m very sorry to tell you, you’ve lost the baby.”

 

Charlotte watched Donovan, unresponsive, but she felt Mary stiffen beside her and squeeze her hand painfully tight.

 

“What is the question Sergeant?”  Mary asked through clenched teeth.

 

“The medical exam performed on you when you were admitted five weeks ago indicated recent sexual activity.  The rape kit came back inconclusive and though there was evidence of activity, from the exam it could not be determined if there was forced entry.  My question is do you remember being sexually assaulted?”

 

Charlotte looked at her own fingers and took a deep breath before saying, “No.”

 

“Miss Hastings–”

“Charlotte, please,” she said.

“Of course, Charlotte, you were heavily drugged in captivity–”

“Yes,” Charlotte acknowledged.

“With your former boyfriend of ten years,” Donovan continued over Charlotte’s interruptions.

“I know that,” she said defensively.

“–For seventy-six hours,” she finished.

“Oh…”

“Charlotte the absence of a no does not make it a yes, if you were sexually assaulted during that time–”

“Can you please leave?  Can we be done now?” She looked at Mary for assistance but the older woman remained stunned into silence.

 

“I understand,” Donovan held both hands out in front of her in surrender and immediately stood to leave the room.  “But we will need to finish this conversation.  There is support for you and help you can receive while you’re here in hospital and then of course later during rehabilitation.”

 

“No,” Charlotte said exhausted.  “Daniel did not assault me.”  She held up her hand when Donovan began to interrupt her.  “I realize I was high as a kite the entire time, but I can assure you, his rage had not reached that point.  He was still trying to play good cop.  The injuries he was responsible for were done when I was passed out. But he did not assault me sexually.”

 

Charlotte felt a flash of anger when Donovan processed this information but it quickly passed and she was sucked back into the nothingness of being numb.

 

“Please, go now,” Mary said.   She stood up to see Donovan out and looked back at Charlotte who nodded gratefully. Charlotte watched them both leave the room and then realized whatever she had told Donovan would immediately be reported to Lestrade.

 

The doctor came in soon after and explained to her how her recovery was proceeding. Thankfully a different nurse from Jenny accompanied him in the room when they removed her catheter. Mary came back in when they had finished up and assisted Charlotte in standing and walking to the bathroom.  After her shower she dressed in the pajamas Mary had brought along and settled back on her bed.

 

Mary closed one of the curtains to dim the brightness and placed the tulips on the vase. She did all of this silently while Charlotte laid back and watched her.  Jenny came in to adjust her medicine and reattach her IV’s.

 

“Mary, I’m fine. I need to just…not be awake…”

“I know it, love.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Good,” she said crawling into bed alongside her sister.  “Neither do I.”  Mary put her arm around Charlotte and crossed her legs and just sat quietly waiting.

“You don’t need to be here you know.”

“I do know that.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“Of course you are.”

 

Charlotte was furious at Mary’s refusal to leave.  It wasn’t until the weight of the situation, and the sedative, bore down upon her that she wept.  Mary held on to Charlotte and remained completely silent.  When the worst of it had passed she began to stroke her sisters hair until finally Charlotte found sleep.


	43. Pride & Prejudice

“Charlotte, wake up love.”  Mary sat on the edge of the bed and gently touched the younger woman’s shoulder.

            “Mary what’s wrong?”  Charlotte, in a sudden panic, sat up looking around the room for the threat. The lamps had all been turned on and the curtains had been drawn.  Seeing the clock she realized it was evening again. There was a tray of mush on the table next to her bed that must have been intended to be dinner.

           

“Nothing! Oh, I’m so sorry, Char, nothing is wrong.  It’s okay. You’re okay, Char. You’re safe, everything is okay.” Mary quickly tried to deescalate the situation.

           

“I’m sorry.” Charlotte said when she realized nothing was wrong. She closed her eyes and concentrated on steadying her breathing before opening them again.

           

“You have _nothing at all_ to apologize for.  I’m sorry for waking you.  There are several people queued in the hallway who have been so eager to see you and I just thought you might fancy seeing some friendly faces.  Are you up for visitors?”

 

            “Oh…I…I…I don’t…I don’t know, Mary.”   Charlotte began pulling and twisting her sheets as Mary scoot closer to grip her hands.

 

            “Look at me please,” she said quietly.  She took her sister’s hands in hers and tried to get her to focus. “Visiting hours end in one hour, alright?  All they want to do is celebrate with you and I swear I’ll clear the room the moment you’ve had enough.  You’re not alone in this, I promise.”

 

            For the next forty minutes Charlotte witnessed the relief of her well being of each one of her visitors faces slowly turn to awkward concern. She smiled too late and responded monosyllabically, and when someone would hug her or reach for her hand, she flinched away enough for them to feel uncomfortable.  Mary sat close enough to her that she very easily could have signaled her to get everyone away, that it was all too much, but she chastised herself for thinking such a selfish thought. 

 

             Molly and Tom brought her some fashion magazines to peruse, if she felt up to it.  Mrs. Hudson brought some of her pajamas from Baker Street as well as the quilt Charlotte’s mother made to give her some comfort in the sterile hospital room.  Mary helped her dispose of the hospital blanket to put the quilt on instead.  John brought some coloring books and a new box of crayons from Sophie, who was at home with Sherlock for the evening.  These people, the people who had become a new family to her in her short time in London, just wanted to celebrate her survival; the very least she could do was make an effort to express her gratitude for their company. Instead of feeling grateful though, she felt the old familiar suffocating feeling of a panic attack coming on.

 

            She gulped down the panic attack she felt rise and continued smiling, even if it was too late and the person talking to her missed it.  She listened to stories of their everyday lives and how blissfully normal things were for them.  It did not go unnoticed by Charlotte that all mention of Sherlock was avoided so when Mr. Holmes walked in, the room fell silent. Charlotte and Mary shared a shocked expression before turning back to the new guest.

 

            “Well hello everyone!  Please don’t let my late arrival stop the celebrations.”  He smiled warmly at Charlotte but went immediately to make his hellos to Molly and Tom, working his way around the room.

 

            “Mary, what is he doing here?”  Charlotte grabbed her sister’s hand as an anchor to her rising panic. “They know, right? That none of it was at all real? That they have no reason to…” The familiar black dots were swimming in front of her face again and she felt John come to the other side of her bed to alert the nurse and simultaneously take her pulse.

 

            “Charlotte,” he said, “The nurse will be coming in soon.  She’ll be sending everyone away and giving you something to help you sleep.”  Charlotte stared at him with wide, grateful eyes and squeezed his hand in return.

 

            “Char, he knows everything, of course, he has been in quite a state since you were found.  John, where do you suppose Sherlock’s mum is?”

 

            Before John could answer, Mr. Holmes made his way to the foot of Charlotte’s bed and presented her with beautiful pink tulips.

           

            “Ah, Dr. and Mrs. Watson, my loving wife is at present giving our youngest what for, for keeping his distance this evening.  I am here because I needed to see this remarkable woman with my own eyes.  Hello dear Charlotte.”

 

            Charlotte’s vision clouded again but this time it was from the unexpected tears threatening to spill.  She couldn’t speak because of the extreme tightness in her throat.

 

            “What the devil do you all think you’re doing in here?”  Theresa, the night nurse, came stomping into the room glaring at each guest in turn.  “No wonder you’re having a panic attack, you poor thing.  Out with you all, right this instant. Now!”  Theresa pushed everyone out of the room except for John, Mary and Mr. Holmes.  Each guest departed with well wishes and promises to visit again soon.

 

            “Now, I know you’re her family, but you have twenty more minutes and this poor thing needs to get her rest.”  Theresa pushed John aside and adjusted the fluids that were still dripping into her system.  With one more glare at the trio she left the room.  Charlotte immediately loved her.

 

            “That’s Tess, well Theresa, but if you get on her good side she’ll let you call her Tess,” John said having watched Charlotte observing the bossy nurse.

 

            “John, when on earth did you ever get on her good side?  You and…you’ve been nothing but grief to the poor woman the last month!”  Mary laughed at him then looked back at Charlotte.

 

            “Char, I’ve got to go relieve Sherlock and get Sophie home.  I’m sure he’ll be ready for a break. She has been so out of sorts with you gone.  I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”  Mary leaned in and kissed her forehead before walking over to John.

 

            “We’re a phone call away if you need anything, Charlotte.”  John patted her shoulder and began to leave. “Can we give you a lift Mr. Holmes?”

 

            The older man smiled and shooed them away coming to sit in the chair next to Charlotte’s bed.

            “No, I don’t think so.  I’ve come to spend a little time with Charlotte.  I have a ride home, not to worry.  You two go.  I’ll be here with her, if that’s okay with you, my dear,” he added looking back at Charlotte.

 

            Charlotte could feel the effects of the new surge of medicine rushing through her and felt all the anxiety and panic from ten minutes ago, dull and sink. She sagged against her pillows and nodded at the older man then smiled at Mary and John before they left. Mr. Holmes made a movement to retrieve something from his jacket drawing her attention to him.

 

            “Not to worry, my dear.  I am simply retrieving another get-well gift to add to the pile.”  He pulled out a stack of papers bound together by twine and an envelope and laid them both on her nightstand.  He then retrieved a well-worn book he laid on his lap. Charlotte watched his deliberately slow actions and found them familiar and comforting.

 

            “Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” she said quietly.

            “Not at all dear, though this is not from my wife and I, but from our sons.” Charlotte nodded to acknowledge his words but didn’t immediately process the meaning.

            “I mean, for coming to me…to see me…and for moving… slowly, does that make sense?”

            “I’m an old man, I always move slowly these days.  Tell me dear, are you finished scolding yourself for the evening?”

 

            Charlotte looked back at him in confusion.

 

            “You have spent the better part of the last hour convincing yourself that you owe something to each and every person who has come in to see you tonight. You have chided yourself for your slow reaction times and berated yourself for being scared when someone reached to make contact with you in some way.  But the worst thing you’ve done is felt guilt at being grateful and relieved they’re all gone, correct?”

 

            “I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking down.

            “No, my dear, you misunderstand me.  You don’t owe anyone, anything.  You are forevermore, a changed person.  You have nothing to feel guilty about.”  He smiled once more at her and opened his book leaving her to her thoughts.

 

            “Mr. Holmes?”

            “Yes, dear?”

            “I saw you, sometimes…” she said a few moments later.

            “Did you?” He asked, peering once over his book to make eye contact.

            “Yes, when I was…when they…I would have this…alternate place, like a dream, sort of, to go to, when…it became too much…if the drugs…and sometimes, I would…see you there.”

            “Tell me, was I young and devilishly handsome in this dream of yours?”

            “No…I mean, you came as you are now, and I knew…when you were there…that you were there to calm me down…you were…reason…you were helping me…decide. When you sat with me…I knew…somehow that…that things…were really…bad.”  A single tear escaped and she rubbed it away quickly realizing not for the first time how tired she was. 

 

            He lowered the book to his chest then and observed her struggle to find the right words.  “I see, and did my advice help?”

           

            “You told me to stop fighting everyone else’s battles and to let someone fight for me for a change.  You said…he would find me…”

            “What happened next?”

            “Mycroft found me and tried to save me.”

“Well my dear, it appears I am a genius after all.  Let’s not tell the others though.”  He winked at her and put the book back in front of his face and continued reading silently until she fell asleep.

 

She awoke several hours later to an empty room.  She lay still listening to the nurses chatting at their station, which seemed to be right outside her room.  Hours earlier she had wished for nothing more than to be alone. Now, she considered pressing the call-button to summon a nurse just to have company.  Alone, her mind could wander and she felt very sure this could be disastrous.  After several moments she stopped worrying.  Her mind was disturbingly empty it seemed.  She wondered if she should feel concerned but reasoned it would have something to do with her brain recovering, not to mention all the medication and narcotics that were working their way slowly out of her system.

 

Slowly she sat up and propped her pillows.  She considered the coloring book and crayons Sophie had sent for her to use but they were out of reach and would require a nurse coming in to help her, which would turn into a conversation about her not sleeping and then being pumped with more medicine.  Charlotte made the decision then to request she start being removed from as many of those medications as soon as logistically possible. She slowly looked around the room and realized for the first time how many vases of pink tulips, of varying shades, surrounded her.  Counting the one Mr. Holmes had brought in earlier there were five.

 

“One for each week,” she said quietly.  She looked towards the door again half expecting to see someone standing there.  She had spared little time for thinking about any one subject since waking for the first time in weeks the night before.  One subject she actively avoided though was Sherlock.  Looking at the flowers tonight she couldn’t stop her thoughts and let them wash over her.  Had he delivered them himself or just had someone else bring them, like tonight? Was he avoiding her because he felt guilt for what happened?  Or, had he resumed his life sparing little thought for her?  And if that were true….  Charlotte covered her face with her hands and scoffed at her own ridiculousness when something else occurred to her.

 

On the bedside table Mr. Holmes had laid something from his sons. She looked to the table and grabbed the envelope first.  It was a standard legal-sized envelope that had a hard object inside it. Checking the door once more, she carefully opened it trying to make as little noise as possible. Inside there was a pre-paid mobile phone as well as a letter.

 

_Dear Charlotte,_

_There are several matters I need to discuss with you.  You’re recovery is most important however, so please do not feel rushed in making a decision to meet with me.  I have enclosed this mobile as a secure way for you to contact me when you are comfortable._

_I also realize, of course, you have no reason to trust me. I only request that you allow me to explain everything as best I can, that way you are well informed and can move towards a faster recovery of mind, body and spirit._

_I will make myself available at your earliest convenience. Please send your reply when you can.  My number is the only one in the phone._

_Respectfully,_

_Mycroft Holmes_

Charlotte let the letter fall back to her lap as she stared off into the space. She defaulted to her usual way of handling this type of situation but her gut remained silent.  She felt nothing.  On some level she wanted to know everything.  She had so many questions, so many loose ends to tie up, yet she felt no motivation in solving the puzzle.  She folded the letter carefully and turned off the mobile phone so as not to waste the battery and returned both to the envelope, which she again placed on the table.

 

She briefly touched the stack of papers Mr. Holmes had laid there earlier when the door opened.

 

“What the devil are you doing awake, you?”  Theresa bustled in again and planted her meaty fists on her hips fixing Charlotte with a glare reminiscent to the ones she used to receive from her father when she was caught reading after bedtime.

“Oh come one, Theresa, I’ve been asleep for five weeks!”  Charlotte joked half-heartedly.

“Hmph, you need rest girl.  You’ve been through hell and back.  Did ya have a nightmare?”

“No,” Charlotte thought on that for a moment before looking back at the nurse. “I will though, won’t I?”

Theresa busied herself with filling a new glass of water for her and setting it on her nightstand before answering her.

“Yes, they’ll come.  More realistic than the conversation you and I are having right now, but you’ll wake up again and again.  You survived worse than what the nightmares will be and you’ll need to remind yourself of that. Ya hear me, girl?”  Theresa’s voice wasn’t soft and monotone like the other nurses who had been in that day. She was hard and realistic and Charlotte felt equal parts terrified and secure in her presence.

“Theresa?”

“Hmm?”

“Did I have many visitors when I was in the coma?”  She looked at her hands to hide her embarrassment.

“Of course you did.  All of those fools having a party in your room earlier today were crowding my hallways and dirtying my floors with their constant vigil.  And that brother-in-law of yours….hmph!”

“Oh, okay.  Did…did anyone else…come…that maybe… wasn’t at the party?”

 

Theresa smirked at her and Charlotte realized how obvious it must have been what she was fishing for.

 

“He was in here most every night, if ya must know.  Had the staff believing he was your husband when you were in intensive care just so he could stay.  They excused his god-awful manners on the fact that he was a distraught husband,  ya see. When they found out he wasn’t of course they kicked him out.  His brother was even more of a pain in the arse then though so he was allowed back in so long as he promised to stop making the nurses cry.  Anyway, when you were out of the woods he calmed a bit. Always reading the same ridiculous story, over and over…must have read that book to ya a hundred times.” She shook her head in wonder and started making her way back to the door.

“What about last night?”

“What about it?  It’s the same every night.”

“But someone said…Dr. Hooper was my only…company.”

“Come girl, you clearly know him well enough to know that when he wants to be seen, he’s seen.  And heard for that matter.”

“Tonight too?”

Theresa came to Charlotte’s nightstand and opened the drawer, removing a well-worn book and showing her.  “It’s like I said, it’s the same every night.”  She laid it on the side of Charlotte’s bed then began walking to the door.

“Theresa?”

“What is it now, girl?  You need your rest.”

“I know, I’m just wondering if you can move the coloring books and crayons over…in case I wake up again…I couldn’t reach them before.  Please?”  She added half a second late.

“Alright, but don’t let me catch you still awake by the time I clock out in an hour.”

“Deal.”

 

Charlotte picked up the book to see the familiar cover.  It looked ten times older than the last time she had been reading it on Sherlock’s couch weeks and weeks ago.  When she opened the cover something fell out onto her lap.  Looking down she saw it was made of an expensive parchment that made the paper thicker than regular stationary paper.  She tentatively picked it up to see her name on the front of the folded page. She returned her gaze to the stack of the exact same paper on the nightstand.  Taking a deep breath, she unfolded the paper.

 

_It is my most sincere hope that your masculine nurse remembers to leave this out for you to read.  My instructions were quite clear but as John often reminds me, my brain works faster than simpletons and anyway, she doesn’t much like me. Something about me being too negative in a place of healing…total rubbish.  When I educated her that my personality would bear no impact on your recovery whatsoever she threatened to have me removed again._

_I’ve been forcibly removed only twice, which John said is something quite remarkable.  Mycroft, I believe, is equal parts relieved and disappointed I haven’t gotten into more trouble here. While I’m quite adept at sneaking in and out of places, it’s tiresome and it is much more convenient to be able to sit with you when she comes stomping in and out of your room with her man feet. There were so many times I was sure you’d wake up because of the racket she made, but I digress._

_My well-meaning father brought you my stack of letters tonight without this, the cover letter.  It would have been attached to the others had my mother not chewed my ear off long enough for my father to grab everything and walk out the door.  It is my guess you haven’t begun to read anything yet.  I’ve labeled all of the really important letters with one-sentence summaries that way you can choose to avoid anything if you’re not ready…I’ll understand._

_Always,_

_Sherlock_


End file.
